SIMMS' WORKS, 
 
 RECENTLY PUBLISHED 
 
 BY HARPER & BROTHERS. 
 
 THE PARTISAN : a Tale of the Revolution. In 
 2 vols. 12rao. 
 
 THE YEMASSEE : a Romance of Carolina. In 2 
 vols. 12mo. Third Edition. 
 
 GUY RIVERS : a Tale of Georgia. In 2 vols 
 12mo. Third Edition. 
 
 MARTIN FABER, the Story of a Criminal. Second 
 Edition. 12mo. 
 
 ATALANTIS, a Story of the Sea. 8vo. 
 
4 
 
 / 
 
 / 
 
 THE PARTISAN: 
 
 A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE YEMASSEE," "GUY RIVERS," &c. 
 
 u 
 
 ' And Liberty's vitality, like Truth, 
 Is still undying. As the sacred fire 
 Nature has shrined in caverns, still it bums. 
 Though the storm howls without." 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 NO. 82 CLIFF-STREET, 
 
 AND SOLD BY THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS THROUOHOUT THE 
 
 UNITED STATES. 
 
 18 35. 
 
[Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1635, by 
 
 Harpbr & Bkotuers, 
 in the Clerk's OfSce oi the Souihem District of New- York.] 
 
TO EICHARD YEADON, Jr., Esq., 
 
 ' OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 My earliest, and, perhaps, most pleasant rambles 
 in the fields of literature, were taken in your com- 
 pany — permit me to remind you of that period by in- 
 scribing the present volumes with your name. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Barnwell, South Carolina, 
 July 1, 1835. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://archive.org/details/partisantaleofre01simm 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Spending a few weeks, some eighteen months ago, 
 with a friend,* in the neighbourhood of the once beau- 
 tiful, but now utterly decayed, town of Dorchester, 
 South Carolina, I availed myself of the occasion to re- 
 visit the old, and, at one time, familiar ruins. When a 
 boy, I had frequently rambled over the ground, and lis- 
 tened to its chronicles from the lips of one — now no 
 more — who had been conversant with all its history. 
 Many of its little legends were known to me, and the 
 story of more than one of its inhabitants, of whom 
 nothing now remains but the record in the burial- 
 place, had been long since registered in my mind. 
 These, — together with its own sad transition by re- 
 peated disasters, from the busy bustle of the crowded 
 thoroughfare, to the silence and the desolation of the 
 tombs — were well adapted to inspire in me a senti- 
 ment of veneration ; and, with the revival of many old 
 time feelings and associations, I strolled through the 
 solemn ruins — the dismantled church — the frowning 
 fortress, now almost hidden in the accumulating for- 
 ests — reading and musing as I went, among the moul- 
 dering tombstones, and finding food for sweet thoughts 
 and a busy fancy at every step in my ramble. The 
 
 ♦ Mr. John W. Sommers, of St. Paul's Parish — a gentleman 
 whose fine conversational powers and elegant hospitality need no 
 eulogy from me for their proper appreciation among all those who 
 know him. 
 
X ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 familiar features of the partisan warfare ; and the title 
 of the work, indeed, will persuade the reader to look 
 rather for a true description of that mode of warfare, 
 than for any consecutive story comprising the fortunes 
 of a single personage. This, he is solicited to keep in 
 mind, as one of my leading objects has been to give a 
 picture, not only of the form and pressure of the time 
 itself, but of the thousand scattered events making 
 up its history. The very title should imply something 
 desultory in the progress and arrangement of the tale ; 
 and my aim has been to give a story of events, rather 
 than of persons. The one, of course, could not well 
 have been done without the other; yet it has been my 
 object to make myself as greatly independent as pos- 
 sible of the necessity which would combine them. A 
 sober desire for history — the unwritten, the unconsid- 
 ered, but veracious history — has been with me, in this 
 labour, a sort of principle. The phases of a time of 
 errors and of wrongs — of fierce courage — tenacious 
 patriotism — yielding, but struggling virtue, not equal to 
 the pressure of circumstances, and falling for a time, 
 Antaeus-like, only for a renewal and recovery of its 
 strength — it has been my aim to delineate, with all the 
 rapidity of one, who, with the mystic lantern, runs his 
 uncouth shapes and varying shadows along the gloomy 
 wall, startling the imagination and enkindling curiosity. 
 The medium through which we now look at these 
 events, is, in some respects, that of a glass darkened. 
 The characters rise up before us grimly or indistinctly. 
 We scarcely believe, yet we cannot doubt. The evi- 
 dence is closed — the testimony now irrefutable — and 
 imagination, however audacious in her own province, 
 only ventures to imbody and model those features of 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. xi 
 
 the past, which the sober truth has left iudistmct, as 
 not within her notice, or unworthy her regard. 
 
 I have entitled the " Partisan" a tale of the Revo- 
 lution — it was intended to be particularly such. The 
 characters, many of them, are names in the nation, 
 familiar as our thoughts. Gates, Marion, De Kalb, 
 and the rest, are all the property of our country. In 
 the illustrations which I have presumed to give of 
 these personages, I have followed the best authorities. 
 The severity with which I have visited the errors of 
 the former general, is sustained by all the writers — 
 by Otho Williams, by Lee, by Johnson, and the current 
 histories. There can be little doubt, I believe, of the 
 truth, in his case, of my drawing. It may be insisted 
 on, as of questionable propriety, thus to revive these 
 facts, and to dwell upon the faults and foibles of a man 
 conspicuous in our history, and one, who, in a single 
 leading event, contributed so largely to the glory of its 
 pages. But, on this point, I am decided, that a nation 
 gains only, in glory and in greatness, as it is resolute 
 to behold and to pursue the truth. I would paint the 
 disasters of my country, where they arose from the 
 obvious error of her sons, in the strongest possible 
 colours. We should then know — our sons and servants, 
 alike, should then know — how best to avoid them. The 
 rock which has wrecked us once, should become the 
 beacon for our heirs hereafter. It is only by making 
 it so, that the vicissitudes of life — its follies or mis- 
 fortunes — can be made tributary to its triumphs. For 
 this reason I have dwelt earnestly upon our disasters ; 
 and, with a view to the moral, I have somewhat depart- 
 ed from the absolute plan of the story, to dilate upon 
 the dangerous errors of the leading personages in the 
 
Xll ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 events drawn upon. The history of the march of 
 Gates's army, I have carefully elaborated with this 
 object; and the reflecting mind will see the parallel 
 position of cause and effect which I have studiously 
 sought to make obvious, wherever it seemed to me 
 necessary for the purposes of instruction. It is in this 
 way, only, that the novel may be made useful, when it 
 ministers to morals, to mankind, and to society. 
 
THE PARTISAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 •' Oh, grievous desolation I look, and see 
 Their sad condition ! 'Tis a piercing sight : 
 A country overthrown and crushed — the scythe 
 Gone over it in wrath — and sorrowing Grief 
 Dumb with her weight of wo." 
 
 • 
 Our narrative begins in South Carolina, during the 
 summer of 1780. The arms of the British were at that 
 time triumphant throughout the colony. Their armies 
 overran it. Charlestown, the chief city, had stood a 
 siege, and had fallen, after a protracted and honourable 
 defence. One-half of the military strength of the lower 
 country, then the most populous region, had become pris- 
 oners of war by this disaster ; and, for the present, were 
 thus incapacitated from giving any assistance to their 
 brethren in arms. Scattered, crushed, and disheartened 
 by repeated failures, the whigs, in numerous instances, 
 hopeless of any better fortune, had given in their adhe- 
 sion to the enemy, and had received a pledge of British 
 protection. This protection secured them, as it was 
 thought, in their property and persons, and its condi- 
 tions simply called for their neutrality. Many of the 
 more firm and honourably tenacious, scorning all com- 
 promise with invasion, fled for shelter to the swamps 
 and mountains ; and, through the former, all Europe 
 could not have traced their footsteps. In the whole 
 slate, at this period, the cause of American liberty had 
 no head, and almost as little hope : all was gloomy and 
 Vol. L— B 
 
14 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 unpromising. Marion, afterward styled the " Swamp 
 Fox," and Sumter, the " Game Cock"— epithets aptly- 
 descriptive of their several military attributes — had not 
 yet properly risen in arms, though both of them had 
 been engaged already in active and successful service. 
 Their places of retreat were at this time unknown ; 
 and, certainly, they were not then looked to, as at an 
 after period, with that anxious reliance which their 
 valour subsequently taught their countrymen to enter- 
 tain. Nothing, indeed, could be more deplorably pros- 
 trate than were the energies of the colony. Here and 
 there, only, did some little partisan squad make a stand, 
 or offer a show of resistance to the incursive British 
 or the marauding and malignant tory — disbanding, if 
 not defeated, most usually after the temporary object 
 had been obtained, and retreating for security into shel- 
 ter and inaction. There was no sort of concert, save 
 in feeling, among the many who were still not unwil- 
 ling for the fight : they doubted or they dreaded one 
 another ; they knew not whom to trust. The next-door 
 neighbour of the stanch whig was not unfrequently a 
 furious loyalist — as devoted to George the Third as the 
 other could have been to the intrinsic beauty of human 
 liberty. The contest of the Revolution, so far as it had 
 gone, had confirmed and made tenacious this spirit of 
 hostility and opposition, until, in the 'end, patriot and 
 loyalist had drawn the sword against one another, and 
 rebel and tory were the degrading epithets by which 
 they severally distinguished the individual whose throat 
 they strove to cut. When the metropolis fell into the 
 hands of the British, and their arms extended through 
 the state, the tories alone were active and formidable. 
 They now took satisfaction for their own previous 
 trials ; and crime was never so dreadful a monster as 
 when they ministered to its appetites. Mingled in with 
 the regular troops of the British, or forming separate 
 bodies of their own, and officered from among them- 
 selves, they penetrated the well-known recesses which 
 gave shelter to the fugitives. If the rebel resisted, they 
 slew him without quarter ; if he submitted, they hung 
 
 
THE PARTISAN. 15 
 
 liim without benefit of clergy : they spoiled his children 
 of their possessions, and not unfrequeutly slew them 
 also. But few sections of the low and middle country 
 escaped their search. It was only in the bald regions 
 of North Carolina that the fugitives could find repose ; 
 only where the most miserable poverty took from crime 
 all temptation, that the beaten and maltreated patriots 
 dared to give themselves a breathing-space from flight. 
 In the same manner the frontier-colony of Georgia had 
 already been overrun and ravaged by the conquerors ; 
 and there, as it was less capable of resistance, all show 
 of opposition had been long since at an end. Tiie in- 
 vader, deceived by these appearances, declared in 
 swelling language to his monarch, that the two colo- 
 nies were properly subjugated, and would now return 
 to their obedience. He knew not that, 
 
 ■" Freedom's battle once begun, 
 Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, 
 Though baffled oft, is ever won." 
 
 But, though satisfied of the efficiency of his achieve- 
 ments, and himself convinced of the truth of the assu- 
 rances which he had made to this efiect, the commander 
 oFi^e British forces did not suffer the slightest relaxa- 
 tion of his vigilance. Earl ("oi'nwallis, one of the best 
 of the many leaders sent by the mother-country to the 
 colonies in that eventful contest, had taken charge of 
 the southern marching army soon after the fall of 
 Charlestown. He was too good a soldier to omit, or 
 to sleep in the performance of any of his duties. He 
 proceeded with due diligence to confirm his conquests ; 
 and, aptly sustained by the celerity and savage enter- 
 prise of the fierce legionary. Colonel Tarleton, the 
 country was soon swept from the seaboard to the mount- 
 ains. This latter able but cruel commander, who en- 
 acted the Claverhouse in South Carolina with no small 
 closeness of resemblance to his prototype, was as inde- 
 fatigable as unsparing. He plunged headlong into fight, 
 with a courage the most unscrupulous, with little reflec- 
 tion, seeming rather to confide in the boldness and 
 
16 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 impetuosity of his onset than to any ingenuity of plan, 
 or careful elaborateness of manoeuvre. Add to this 
 that he was sanguinary in the last degree when tri- 
 umphant, and we shall easily understand the sources 
 of that terror v/hich his very name was found to inspire 
 among the undrilled,and,inhalfthe numberof instances, 
 the unarmed militia which opposed him. " Tarleton's 
 quarter" was the familiar and bitterly-derisive phrase 
 by which, when the whigs had opportunities of revenge, 
 his blood-thirsty treatment of the overthrown and cap- 
 tive was remembered and requited. 
 
 The entire colony in his possession — all opposition, 
 worthy the name, at an end — the victor, the better to 
 secure his conquest, marched an army throughout the 
 country. His presence, for the time, had the desired 
 effect. His appearance quelled disaffection, overawed 
 all open discontents, and his cavalry, by superior skill 
 and rapidity of movement, readily dispersed the little 
 bands of Carolinians that here and there fell in his 
 way. Nor was this exhibition of his power the only 
 proceeding by which he laboured to secure the fruits 
 of his victory. With an excellent judgment, he estab- 
 lished garrisons in various eligible points of the coun- 
 try, in order to its continual presence : these stations 
 were judiciously chosen for independent and co-opera- 
 tive enterprise alike ; they were sufficiently nigh for 
 concert — sufficiently scattered for the general control 
 of an extensive territory. Rocky Mount, Ninety Six, 
 Camden, Hanging Rock, Dorchester, and a large num- 
 ber of military posts beside, were thus created, all 
 amply provided with munitions of war, well fortified, 
 and garrisoned by large bodies of troops under experi- 
 enced officers. 
 
 These precautions for a time compelled submission. 
 The most daring among the patriots were silent — the 
 most indulgent of the loyalists were active and enter- 
 prising. To crown and secure all, Sir Henry Clinton, 
 who was at this period commander-in-chief of the 
 southern invading army, proclaimed a general pardon, 
 with some few exceptions, to all the inhabitants, for 
 
THE PARTISAN. 17 
 
 their late treasonable offences — promising them a full 
 reinstatement of their old immunities, and requiring 
 nothing in return but that they should remain quietly 
 in their homes. This specious and well-timed indul- 
 gence had its due eflect ; and, in the temporary panic 
 produced by Lincoln's defeat, the fall of the metropolis, 
 the appearance of an army so formidable as that of the 
 British, and the establishment of military posts and 
 fortresses all around them, the people generally put on 
 a show of acquiescence to the authority of the invader, 
 which few in reality felt, and which many were secretly 
 but resolutely determined never to submit to. 
 
 Thus much is necessary, in a general point of view, 
 to the better comprehension of the narrative which 
 follows. The reader will duly note the situation of the 
 colony of South Carolina ; and when we add, that the 
 existing condition of things throughout the Union, was 
 only not so bad, and the promise of future fortune but 
 little more favourable, all has been said necessary to 
 his proper comprehension of the discouraging circum- 
 stances under which the partisan warfare of the South 
 began. With this reference, we shall be better able 
 to appreciate that deliberate valour, that unyielding 
 patriotism, which, in a few spirits, defying danger and 
 above the sense of privation, could keep alive the 
 sacred fires of liberty in the thick swamps and dense 
 and gloomy forests of Carolina — asking nothing, yield- 
 ing nothing, and only leaving the field the better to re- 
 enter it for the combat. We now proceed to the com- 
 mencement of our narrative. 
 B 2 
 
18 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Sweet flow thy waters, Ashley, and pleasant on thy banks 
 The mossy oak. and massy pine stand forth in solemn ranks ; 
 They fringe thee in a fittmg guise, since with a gentle play, 
 Through bending groves and circling dells thou tak'st thy mazy 
 
 way — 
 Thine is the suijimer's loveliness, save when September storms 
 Arouse thee to the angry mood, that all thy face deforms ; 
 And thine the recollection old, which makes thee proudly shine. 
 When happy thousands saw thee rove, and Dorchester was thine." 
 
 The scene is very much altered now. Dorchester 
 belongs to Ashley no longer. It is a name — a shadow. 
 The people are gone ; the site is distinguished by its 
 ruins only. The owl hoots through the long night 
 from the old church-tower, and the ancient woods and 
 the quiet waters of the river give back, in melancholy 
 echoes, his unnoted cries. The Carolinian looks on 
 the spot with a saddened spirit. The trees crowd 
 upon the ancient thoroughfare ; the brown viper hisses 
 from the venerable tomb, and the cattle graze alon.g 
 the clustering bricks that distinguish the old-time chim- 
 ney-places. It is now one of those prospects that kin- 
 dle poetry in the most insensible observer. It is one 
 of the visible dwelling-places of Time ; and the ruins 
 that still mock, to a certain extent, his destructive 
 progress, have in themselves a painful chronicle of 
 capricious change and various affliction. They speak 
 for the dead that lie beneath them in no stinted num- 
 ber ; they record the leading features of a long history, 
 crowded with vicissitudes. 
 
 But our purpose now is with the past, and not with the 
 present. We go back to the time when the village of 
 Dorchester was full of life, and crowded widi inhabit- 
 ants ; when the coaches of the wealthy planters of 
 the neighbourhood thronged the highway ; when the 
 
 r 
 
THE PARTISAN. 19 
 
 bells from the steeple sweetly called to the Sabbath 
 worship ; and when, through the week, the shops were 
 crowded with buyers, and the busy hammer of the 
 mechanic, and the axe of the labourer, sent up their 
 crowding noises, imaging, upon a small scale, many of 
 the more stirring attributes of tlie great city, and all 
 of its life. Dorchester then had several hundred in- 
 habitants. The plan of the place lies before me now — 
 a regularly laid-out city, of perfect squares, with its 
 market-place, its hotels, and its churches ; its busy 
 wharves, and its little craft of sloop and schooner, 
 lying at anchor, or skimming along the clear bosom of 
 the Ashley in all the show of impulse and prosperity. 
 It had its garrison also, and not the smallest portion 
 of its din and bustle arose from the fine body of red- 
 coated and smartly-dressed soldiers then occupying the 
 square fort of tapia-work, which to this day stands 
 upon the hill of Dorchester — ^just where the Ashley 
 bends in with a broad sweep to the village site — in a 
 singular state of durability and preservation. 
 
 This fort commanded the river and village alike. 
 The old bridge of Dorchester, which crossed the river 
 at a little distance above it, was also within its range. 
 The troops at frequent periods paraded in the market- 
 place, and every art was made use of duly to impress 
 up(m the people the danger of any resistance to a 
 power so capable to annoy and to punish. This being 
 the case, it was amusing to perceive how docile, how 
 loyal indeed, were those inhabitants, who, but a few 
 weeks before, were in arms against their present rulers, 
 and who now only waited a convenient season to re- 
 sume the weapons which policy had persuaded them 
 to lay aside. 
 
 None of the villagers were more dutiful or devout in 
 their allegiance than Richard Humphries — Old Dick, 
 as his neighbours more familiarly styled him — who 
 kept the " Royal George," then the high tavern of the 
 village. The fat, beefy face of the good-natured Hano- 
 verian hung in yellow before the tavern door, on one of 
 the two main roads leading from the country through 
 
20 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 the town. The old monarch had, in this exposed situ- 
 ation, undergone repeated trials. At the commence- 
 ment of the Revolution, the landlord, who really cared 
 not who was king, had been compelled by public opin- 
 ion to take down the sign, replacing it with another 
 more congenial to the popular feeling. George, in the 
 mean time, was assigned less conspicuous lodgings in 
 an ancient garret. The change of circumstances re- 
 stored the venerable portrait to its place, and under the 
 eye of the British garrison, there were few more 
 thorough-going loyalists in the village than Richard 
 Humphries. He was a sociable old man, fond of 
 drink, and generally serving his own glass whenever 
 called upon to replenish that of his customer. His 
 house was the common thoroughfare of the travelling 
 and the idle. The soldier, not on duty, found it a plea- 
 sant lounge ; the tory, confident in the sympathies of 
 the landlord, and solicitous of the good opinion of the 
 ruling powers, made it his regular resort ; and even the 
 whig, compelled to keep down his patriotism, not un- 
 wisely sauntered about in the same wide hall with the 
 enemy he feared and hated, but whom it was no part 
 of his policy at the present moment to alarm or irri- 
 tate. Humphries, from these helping circumstances, 
 distanced all competition in the village. The opposi- 
 tion house was maintained by a suspected whig — one 
 Pryor — who was avoided accordingly. Pryor was a 
 sturdy citizen, who asked no favours ; and if he did 
 not avow himself in the language of defiance, at the 
 same time scorned to take any steps to conciliate pa- 
 tronage or do away with suspicion. He simply cocked 
 his hat at the old-time customer, now passing to the 
 other house ; thrust his hands into the pockets of his 
 breeches, and, with a manful resignation, growled 
 through his teeth as he surveyed the prospect — " He 
 may go and be d — d." 
 
 This sort of philosophy was agreeable enough to 
 Humphries, who, though profligate in some respects, 
 was yet sufficiently worldly to have a close eye to the 
 accumulation of his sixpences. His household was 
 
THE PARTISAN. 21 
 
 well served ; for though himself a widower, his daughter 
 Bella, a buxom, lively, coquettish but genile-aatured 
 creature, proved no common houseiieeper. She was but 
 a girl, however, and, wanting the restraining presence of 
 a matron, and possessing but little dignity herself, the 
 house hadits attractions for many,in the freedoms which 
 the old man' either did not or would not see, and which 
 the girl herself was quite too young, too innocent, and 
 perhaps too weak, often to find fault with. Her true 
 protection, however, was in a brother not much older 
 than herself, a fine manly fellow, and — though with the 
 cautious policy of all around him suppressing his pre- 
 dilections for the time — a stanch partisan of American 
 liberty. 
 
 It was on a pleasant afternoon in June, that a tall, 
 well-made youth, probably twenty-four or five years 
 of age, rode up to the door of the " George," and throw- 
 ing his bridle to a servant, entered the hotel. His 
 person had been observed, and his appearance duly 
 remarked upon, by several persons already assembled 
 in the hall which he now approached. The new comer, 
 indeed, was not one to pass unnoticed. His person 
 was symmetry itself, and the ease with which he man- 
 aged his steed, the unhesitating boldness with which 
 he kept on his way and gazed around him at a period 
 and in a place where all were timid and suspicious, 
 could not fail to fix attention. His face, too, was sig- 
 nificant of a character of command, besides being finely 
 intelligent and tolerably handsome ; and though he 
 carried no weapons that were visible, there was some- 
 thing exceedingly military in his movement, and the 
 cap which he wore, made of some native fur and 
 slightly resting upon one side of his thickly clustering 
 brown hair, imparted a daring something to his look, 
 which gave confirmation to the idea. Many were the 
 remarks of those in the hall as, boldly dashing down 
 the high-road, he left the church to the right, and mov- 
 ing along the market-place, came at once towards the 
 " George," which stood on the corner of Prince and 
 Bridge streets. 
 
22 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 " A bold chap with his spurs, that," exclaimed Ser- 
 geant Hastings, of the garrison, who was a frequent 
 guest of the tavern, and had found no small degree 
 of favour with the landlord's daughter. " A bold chap, 
 that — do you know him, Humphries ?" 
 
 This question brought the landlord to the window. 
 He looked intently upon the youth as he approached, but 
 seemed at fault. 
 
 "Know him? why yes, I think I do know him, ser- 
 geant : that's — yes — that's — bless my soul, I don't 
 know him at all !" 
 
 " Well, be sure, now, Humphries," coolly spoke the 
 sergeant. " Such a good-looking fellow ought not 
 to be forgotten. But he 'lights, and we shall soon know 
 better." 
 
 A few moments, and the stranger made his appear- 
 ance. The landlord bustled up to him, and offered 
 assistance, which the youth declined for himself, but 
 gave directions for his horse's tendance. 
 
 " Shall be seen to, captain," said the landlord. 
 
 " Why do you call me captain ?" demanded the youth, 
 sternly. 
 
 "Bless me, don't be angry, squire; but didn't you 
 say you was a captain ?" apologetically replied Hum- 
 phries. 
 
 " I did not." 
 
 " Well, bless me, but I could have sworn you did 
 — now didn't he, gentlemen ? — sergeant, didn't you 
 hear — " 
 
 "It matters not," the stranger interrupted ; " it mat- 
 ters not. You were mistaken, and these gentlemen 
 need not be appealed to. Have my horse cared for if 
 you please. He has come far and fast to-day, and will 
 need a good rubbing. Give him fodder now, but no 
 corn for an hour." 
 
 " It shall be done, captain." 
 
 " Hark'ee, friend," said the youth angrily, " you will 
 not style me captain again, unless you would have 
 more than you can put up with. I am no captain, no 
 colonel, no commander of any sort, and unless you 
 
THE PARTISAN- 23 
 
 give me the army, will not wear the title. So, under- 
 stand me." 
 
 " Ask pardon, squire ; but it comes so common — ask 
 pardon, sir ;" and the landlord shuffled off, as he spoke, 
 lo see after his business. As he retired, Sergeant 
 Hastings made up to the new comer, and with all 
 the consequence of one having a portion of authority, 
 and accustomed to a large degi-ee of deference from 
 those around him, proceeded to address the youth on 
 the subject matter of his momentary annoyance. 
 > " And, with your leave, young master, where's the 
 harm in being captain or colonel] I don't see that 
 there's any oflence in it." 
 
 'i. " None, none in the world, sir, in being captain or 
 colonel, but some, I take it, in being styled such un- 
 deservedly. The office is good enough, and I have no 
 objections to it ; but I have no humour to be called by 
 any nickname." 
 
 " Nickname — why, d — n it, sir — why, what do you 
 mean 1 Do you pretend that it's a nickname to be 
 called an officer in his majesty's troops, sir? If you 
 do — " and the sergeant concluded with a look. 
 
 " Pistols and daggers ! most worthy officer in his 
 majesty's troops, do not look so dangerous," replied the 
 youth, very coolly. " I have no sort of intention to 
 offend captain or sergeant. I only beg that, as I am 
 neither one nor the other, nobody will force me into 
 their jackets." 
 
 " And why not, yovmg master ?" said the sergeant, 
 somewhat pacified, but still, as he liked not the non- 
 chalance of the stranger, seemingly bent to press upon 
 him a more full development of his opinions. " Why 
 not 1 Is it not honourable, I ask you, to hold his ma- 
 jesty's commission, and would you not, as a loyal sub- 
 ject, be very glad to accept one at his hands 1" 
 
 There was no little interest manifested by the spec- 
 tators as this question was put, and they gathered more 
 closely about the beset stranger, but still keeping at a 
 deferential distance from the sergeant. He, too, looked 
 forward to the reply of the youth with some interest. 
 
24 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 His head was advanced and his arms akimbo, and, 
 stationed in front of the person he examined, in the 
 centre of the hall, his clumsy compact person and 
 round rosy face looked exceedingly imposing in every 
 eye but that of the person for whose especial sight their 
 various terrors had been put on. The youth seemed 
 annoyed by the pertinacity of his assailant, but he 
 made an effort at composure, and after a brief pause 
 replied to the inquiry. 
 
 " Honourable enough, doubtless. I know nothing 
 about the employment, and cannot say. As for taking 
 a commission at his majesty's hands, I don't know that 
 I should do any such thing." 
 
 The declaration produced a visible emotion in the 
 assembly. One or two of the spectators slid away 
 silently, and the rest seemed variously agitated, while, 
 at the same time, one person whom the stranger had 
 not before seen — a stout, good-looking man, seemingly 
 in humble life, and not over his own age — came forward, 
 and, with nothing ostentatious in his manner, placed 
 himself alongside of the man who had so boldly de- 
 clared himself. Sergeant Hastings seemed for an 
 instant almost paralyzed by what appeared the audacity 
 of the stranger. At length, detaching his sword par- 
 tially from the sheath, so that a few inches of the blade 
 became visible, he looked round with a potential aspect 
 upon the company, and then proceeded — 
 
 " Hah ! — not take a commission from the hands of 
 his majesty — indeed ! — and why not, I pray ?" 
 
 Unmoved by the solemnity of the proceeding, the 
 youth with the utmost quietness replied — 
 
 " For the very best reason in the world — I should 
 scarcely know what to do with it." 
 
 " Oh, that's it !" said the sergeant. " And so you 
 are not an officer ?" 
 
 " No. I've been telling you and this drinking fel- 
 low, the landlord, all the time, that I am no officer, and 
 yet neither of you seems satisfied. Nothing will do, 
 but you will put me in his majesty's commission, and 
 
THE PARTISAN. 25 
 
 make me a general and what not, whether I will or 
 no. But vvhere's the man ? — Here, landlord !" 
 
 " Can I serve, sir?" said a soft voice, followed by 
 the pretty maid of the inn, the fair Bella Humphries, 
 whose person was now visible behind the bar. 
 
 " Yes, my dear, you can ;" and as the stranger youth 
 spoke, and the maid courtesied, he tapped her gently 
 upon the cheek, and begged that he might be shown 
 his apartment, stating, at the same time, the probability 
 that he would be an inmate for several days of the 
 tavern. The sergeant scowled fiercely at the liberty 
 thus taken, and the youth could not help seeing that 
 the eye of the girl sank under the glance that the 
 former gave her. He said nothing, however, and taking 
 in his hand the little fur valise that he carried, the only 
 furniture, besides saddle and bridle, worn by his horse, 
 he followed the steps of Bella, who soon conducted 
 him to his chamber, and left him to those ablutions 
 which a long ride along a sandy road had rendered 
 particularly necessary. 
 
 The sergeant meanwhile was not so well satisfied 
 with what had taken place. He was vexed that he had 
 not terrified the youth — vexed at his composure — vexed 
 that he had tapped Bella Humphries upon her cheek, 
 and doubly vexed that she had submitted with such 
 excellent grace to the aforesaid tapping. The truth is, 
 Sergeant Hastings claimed some exclusive privileges 
 with the maiden. He was her regular gallant — be- 
 stowed upon her the greater part of his idle time, and 
 had flattered himself that he stood alone in her esti- 
 mation ; and so, perhaps, he did. His attentions had 
 given him a large degree of influence over her, and 
 what with his big speech, swaggering carriage, and 
 flashy uniform, poor Bella had long since been taught to 
 acknowledge his power over her heart. But the girl was 
 coquettish, and her very position as maid of the inn 
 had contributed to strengthen and confirm the natural 
 predisposition. The kind words and innocent freedoms 
 of the handsome stranger were not disagreeable to her, 
 and she felt not that they interfered with the claims of 
 
 Vol. I.— C 
 
26 THE PARTISAN^ 
 
 the sergeant, or would be so disagreeable to him, until 
 she beheld the scowling glance with which he sur- 
 veyed them. 
 
 In the hall below, to which the landlord had now 
 returned, Hastings gave utterance to the spleen which 
 this matter had occasioned. 
 
 " That's an impudent fellow — a very impudent fel- 
 low. I don't like him." 
 
 The landlord looked up timidly, and after a brief 
 pause, in which the sergeant continued to pace the 
 apartment, again ventured upon speech. 
 
 " And what do you think — what do you think he is, 
 sergeant ?" 
 
 " How should I know ? I asked you : you know 
 every thing ; at least, you pretend to. Why are you 
 out here? Who is he I" 
 
 " Bless me, I can't say ; I don't know."' 
 
 " What do you think he is ?" 
 
 " God knows !" 
 
 " He certainly is an impudent — a very suspicious 
 person." 
 
 " Do you think so, sergeant ?" asked one of the per- 
 sons present, with an air of profound alarm. 
 
 " I do — a very suspicious person — one that should 
 be watched." 
 
 "I see nothing suspicious about him," said another, 
 the same individual who had placed himself beside the 
 stranger when the wrath of the sergeant was expected 
 to burst upon him, and when he had actually laid his 
 hand upon his sword. " I see nothing suspicious about 
 the stranger," said the speaker, boldly, " except that he 
 doesn't like to be troubled with foolish questions." 
 
 " Foolish questions — foolish questions ! Bless me, 
 John Davis, do you know what you're a-saying?" 
 The landlord spoke in great trepidation, and placed 
 himself, as he addressed Davis, between him and 
 the sergeant. 
 
 " Yes, I know perfectly what I say. Master Hum- 
 phries ; and I say it's very unmannerly, the way in which 
 the stranger has been pestered with foolish questions. 
 
THE PARTISAN. 27 
 
 I say it, and I say it again ; and I don't care who hears 
 it. I'm ready to stand up to what I say." 
 
 " Bless me, the boy's mad ! Now, sergeant, don't 
 mind him — he's only foolish, you see," 
 
 " Mind him — oh no ! Look you, young man, do you 
 see that tree ? It won't take much treason to tuck you 
 up there." 
 
 " Treason, indeed ! I talk no treason, Sergeant 
 Hastings, and I defy you to prove any agin me. I'm 
 not to be frightened this time o' day, I'd have you to 
 know ; and though you are a sodger, and wear a red 
 coat, let me tell you there's a tough colt in the woods 
 that your two legs can't straddle. There's no treason 
 in that, for it only concerns one person, and that one 
 person is your own self." 
 
 " You d — d rebel, is it so you speak to a sergeant 
 in his majesty's service ? Take that" — and with the 
 words, with his sword drawn at the instant, he made a 
 stroke with the flat of it at the head of the sturdy dispu- 
 tant, which, as the latter somewhat anticipated it, he 
 was prepared to elude. This was done adroitly enough, 
 and with a huge club which stood conveniently in the 
 corner, he had prepared himself without fear to guard 
 against a repetition of the assault, when the stranger, 
 about whom the coil had arisen, now made his appear- 
 ance, and at once interposed between the parties. 
 
28 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " It is a written bondage — writ in stripes, 
 And letter'd in our blood. Like beaten hounds, 
 We crouch and cry, but clencli not — lick the hand 
 Tliat strilies and scourges." 
 
 Hastings turned furiously at the interruption ; but 
 the stranger, though entirely unarmed, stood firmly, and 
 looked on him with composure. 
 
 " That's a bright sword you wear," said he, " but 
 scarcely a good stroke, and any thing but a gallant 
 one, Master Sergeant, which you make with it. How 
 now, is it the fashion with English soldiers to draw 
 upon unarmed men V 
 
 The person addressed turned upon the speaker with 
 a scowl which seemed to promise that he would 
 transfer some portion of his anger to the new- 
 comer. He had no time, however, to do more than 
 look his wrath at the interruption ; for among the 
 many persons whom the noise had brought to the 
 scene of action was the fair Bella Humphries herself. 
 She waited not an instant to place herself between 
 the parties, and, as if her own interest in the persons 
 concerned gave her an especial right in the mr.tter, she 
 fearlessly passed under the raised weapon of Has- 
 tings, addressing him imploringly, and with an air of 
 intimacy, which was, perhaps, the worst feature in the 
 business — so, at least, the individual appeared to think 
 to whose succour she had come. His brow blackened 
 still more at her approach, and when she interfered to 
 prevent the strife, a muttered curse, half-audible, rose 
 to his lips ; and brandishing the club which he had 
 wielded with no little readiness before, he seemed 
 more than ever desirous of renewing the combat, though 
 at all its disadvantages. But the parties around gener- 
 
THE PARTISAN. 29 
 
 ally interfered to prevent the progress of the strife ; 
 and Bella, whose mind seemed perfectly assured of 
 Hastings' invincibility, addressed her prayers only to 
 him, and in behalf of the other. 
 
 " Now don't strike. Master Sergeant — don't, I pray ! 
 John is only foolish, and don't mean any harm. Strike 
 him not, I beg you !" 
 
 " Beg for yourself, Bella Humphries — I don't want 
 any of your begging for me. I'm no chicken, and can 
 hold my own any day against him. So don't come be- 
 tween us — you in particular — you had better keep 
 away." 
 
 The countryman spoke ferociously ; and his dark 
 eye, long black hair, and swarthy cheek, all combined 
 to give the expression of fierce anger which his words 
 expressed, a lively earnestness not ill-adapted to sustain 
 them. The girl looked on him reproachfully as he 
 spoke, though a close observer might have seen in her 
 features a something of conscious error and injustice. 
 It was evident that the parties had been at one period 
 far more intimate than now ; and the young stranger, 
 about whom the coil had begun, saw in an instant the 
 true situation of the twain. A smile passed over his 
 features, but did not rest, as his eye took in at a glance 
 the twofold expression of Bella's face, standing between 
 her lovers, preventing the fight — scowled on furiously 
 by the one, and most affectionately leered at by the 
 other. Her appeal to the sergeant was so compliment- 
 ary, that even were he not half-ashamed of what he had 
 already done in commencing a contest so unequal, he 
 must have yielded to it and forborne ; and some of his 
 moderation, too, might have arisen from his perceiving 
 the hostile jealousy of spirit with which his rival re- 
 garded her preference of himself. His vanity was en-^ 
 listed in the application of the maiden, and with a 
 becoming fondness of expression in his glance, turning 
 to the coquette, he gave her to understand, while 
 thrusting his sword back into the scabbard, that he 
 consented to mercy on the score of her application. 
 Still, as Davis held out a show of fight, and stood 
 C2 
 
30 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 snugly ensconced behind his chair, defying and even 
 inviting assault, it was necessary that the sergeant 
 should draw off honourably from the contest. While 
 returning the weapon to the sheath, therefore, he spoke 
 to his enemy in language of indulgent warning, not 
 unmixed with the military threats common at the 
 period — 
 
 " Hark you, good fellow — you're but a small man to 
 look out for danger, and there's too little of you, after 
 all, for me to look after. I let you off this time ; but 
 you're on ticklish territory, and if you move but one 
 side or the other, you're but a lost man after all. It's 
 not a safe chance to show rebel signs on the king's 
 highway, and you have an ugly squinting at disaffec- 
 tion. My eyes are on you, now, and if I but see you 
 wink, or hear you hint, treason, — ay, treason, rebellion 
 — I see it in your eyes, I tell you, — but wink it or look 
 it again, and you know it's short work, very short 
 work, and a shorter journey, to the tight rope and the 
 branching tree." 
 
 The speaker looked round significantly upon the 
 company as he uttered a warning and threat, which, 
 though addressed particularly to the refractory country- 
 man, were yet evidently as much meant for the benefit 
 of the rest. Not that the worthy sergeant had any rea- 
 son for uttering language which, in all respects, seemed 
 so gratuitous ; but this was of a piece with the wantonly 
 injudicious habits of his superiors, from whom, with 
 the readiness of suboi-dination, he made free to borrow, 
 and, with as little discrimination, quite as frequently 
 employed it, not less for the gratification of his vanity 
 than for the exercise of his power. The speech had 
 something of its usual effect, — keeping in silence those 
 whose love of talk might have prompted to occasional 
 remark, though without any serious feeling in the mat- 
 ter; and subduing thoroughly all demonstrations of 
 dislike on the part of the few, who, feeling things more 
 deeply, might be disposed rather to act than to speak, 
 when under such provocation. However the persons 
 around may have felt ai the moment, they were gene- 
 
THE PARTISAN. 31 
 
 rally prudent enough to be silent. Old Humphries 
 alone, with uplifted hands, and somewhat touched with 
 liquor, now seeing all danger over, came forward, and 
 hobbling up to the sergeant, cried out, in reply — 
 
 " Why, bless us, sergeant, you talk as if you were 
 among the enemies of his majesty, and not among his 
 good friends and well-wisher*. Now, I'm sure I can 
 answer for all here. There's Jones and Baxter, Lyons 
 and Tom Walker there — all true blue — right loyal good 
 fellows, who drink the health of King George — God 
 bless him ! — whenever they can get a drink ; and as for 
 Jack Davis, bless us, sergeant, there's no better boy 
 in Goose Creek, though he is cross and snappish when 
 his fit's on, and no chicken either, as he says himself. 
 He'll fight for his majesty any day, I know. There's no 
 mistake in him — there's no mistake in any of the boys 
 — I can answer for all that's here, except — " and here 
 the landlord paused in one of the longest speeches he 
 had ever made, and his eye rested doubtfully upon the 
 person of the stranger. 
 
 " Except me," said the latter, coming forward, 
 looking Hastings attentively in the face as he spoke, 
 and at the same time placing his hand with some little 
 emphasis upon the shoulders of old Humphries — " ex- 
 cept me. Master Humphries, for whom you can say 
 nothing — of whom you know nothing — but about whom 
 you are excessively curious. You only know I am not a 
 captain, nor yet a colonel ; and as I have not satisfied 
 your desires on these subjects, of course you cannot 
 answer for my loyalty." 
 
 " Bless us, no ; that I can't, stranger." 
 " But I can. Master Humphries, and that's enough 
 for all parties ; and I can say, as you have already said 
 for these gentlemen, that my loyalty is quite as good as 
 that of any around me, as we shall all see in season. 
 And now that this quarrel is ended, let me only beg of 
 the worthy sergeant here, that he may not be so quick 
 to draw his weapon upon the man that is unarmed. 
 The action is by no means so creditable to the sol- 
 
32 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 dier, and one that he may, most probably, in time, 
 come to be ashamed of." •' 
 
 The perfect coohiess and self-possession "of the 
 stranger, in this brief interlude, confounded Hastings 
 not less than it did the rest. He knew not in what 
 character to behold him, and, but that he was rather 
 stolid than otherwise, might have exhibited traces of 
 that confusion which his mind certainly felt. But the 
 air of superiority which the other manifested, annoyed 
 him too greatly to give way to doubt or indetermina- 
 tion ; and he was about to answer roughly, when a re- 
 mark which Davis made, of a churlish nature, to the 
 coquettish Bella Humphries, who still lingered beside 
 the sergeant, attracted the latter's attention, and giving 
 a glance to the speaker, he threw his collected spleen 
 in that quarter, while addressing the girl — 
 
 " See, now, that's the good you get for saving him 
 from punishment. He doesn't thank you at all for 
 what you've done." 
 
 f " No, that I don't !" cried the incorrigible Davis : 
 ♦' I owe her as little thanks as I owe you kindness, — 
 and I'll pay off both some day. I can hold my own 
 without her help ; and as for her begging, I don't want 
 it — I won't have it — and I despise it." 
 
 " What's that ]" cried Hastings, with a show of 
 returning choler. 
 
 " Nothing, sergeant, nothing ; don't mind what he 
 says ; he's only foolish, and don't mean any harm. 
 Now take your hand away from the sword, I beg you." 
 
 The girl looked so prettily, as she prayed him to be 
 quiet, that the soldier relented. Her deferential solici- 
 tude was all-influential, and softened much of the harsh 
 feeling that might have existed in his bosom. Taking 
 her arm into his own, with a consequential strut, 
 and throwing a look of contempt upon his rival as he 
 passed, the conqueror moved away into the adjoining 
 apartment, to which, as his business seems private at 
 present, we shall not presume to follow him. 
 
 His departure was the signal for renovated life 
 in several of those persons who, in the previous scene, 
 
THE PARTISAN. 33 
 
 seemed quiescent enough. They generously came 
 forward to Davis with advice and friendly counsel to 
 keep himself out of harm's way, and submit, most civ- 
 illy, like a good Christian, to the gratuitous blow and 
 buffet. The most eloquent among them was the land- 
 lord. 
 
 " Now, bless me," said he, " John, my dear boy, 
 why will you be after striving with the sergeant ? 
 You know you can't stand against him, and where's 
 the use ? He's quite too tough a colt for you to man- 
 age, now, I tell you." 
 
 " So you think. Master Humphries — so you think. 
 But I'm not so sure of it, now, by half. I can stand a 
 thump as well as any man — and I haint lived so long 
 in Goose Creek not to know how to give one too. 
 But how you stand it — you, I say, Dick Humphries — 
 I don't altogether see." 
 
 " Eh, John — how I stand it ? Bless us, what do you 
 mean, boy ? He don't trouble me — he don't threaten 
 me — I'm a good subject to his majesty." 
 
 The youth laughed irreverently, and the stranger, 
 who had been standing apart, but still within hearing, 
 noted the incident with a considerable show of interest 
 in his countenance. 
 
 " And what do you laugh for, John? Don't, boy — I 
 pray you, don't. Let's have a glass together, then say 
 what you mean. Good old Jamaica ! Won't you join 
 us, stranger ?" 
 
 The ^'outh declined, and Davis proceeded — 
 
 " My meaning's soon said. Master Humphries. I'm 
 sorry to see — " and here, with a praiseworthy delicacy, 
 he whispered in the old man's ear his objections to the 
 large degree of intimacy existing between the British 
 sergeant and his pretty daughter. 
 
 " Oh, go, John ! there's no harm, boy. You're only 
 jealous 'cause she turned you off." 
 
 " Turned me off, indeed !" responded the other, in- 
 dignantly and aloud — "turned me off! No, Master 
 Humphries — not so bad neither. But it's no use talk- 
 ing — ^you'll know all in time, and will wish you had 
 
34 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 minded what I told you. But go your own gait, youll 
 grow fatter upon it ;" and with this not very nice proverb 
 the disappointed lover turned away. 
 
 This scene had not been lost upon the stranger youth, 
 though little regarded by the other personages, who 
 had each made his speech and taken his drink and de- 
 parture. There was much more spoken that we do 
 not care to record, but which, duly noted by the ears of 
 the one observer to whom we have made especial refer- 
 ence, was held not unworthy in his mind of proper 
 consideration. He had seen a dogged disposition on 
 the part of Davis to break and to quarrel with the 
 British sergeant ; and though he clearly saw that 
 much of this disposition arose, as old Humphries had 
 asserted, from a jealous dislike of the intimacy between 
 Bella and the person in question, he yet perceived that 
 many of the phrases made use of by the countryman 
 indicated any thing but respect or good feeling for the 
 British authority. There was a sturdy brusqueness 
 in his air and manner, when the other spoke to him of 
 treason, which said that the crime was, after all, a venial 
 one in his mind ; and this disposition, perceptible as it 
 must have been to the sergeant, not less than to the 
 stranger, might doubtless have prompted much of that 
 violence on his part which had been so happily and in 
 time arrested. Nor was there any thing precipitate or 
 imcoJBjnon in what the sergesint had done. Such ex- 
 hibitions were common in the bitter and unscrupulous 
 warfaa-e of the south. The word and the blow, and fre- 
 quently the blow first, was the habitual mode of silen- 
 cing, not treason, but all manner of opposition ; and this 
 was the injudicious course by which the British, re- 
 garding South Carolina as a conquered province, re- 
 volted the popular feeling from all sympathy with their 
 authority, and provoked that spirit of determined resist- 
 ance and hostility which, in a few weeks only after 
 this event, blazed up throughout the whole colony, from 
 one end to the other, and commenced that series of 
 harassing operations, the partisan warfare, which, in 
 epite of frequent defeats, cut off the foraging parties of 
 
THE PARTISAN. 35 
 
 ihe British army, destroyed its resources, diminished 
 its exercise, contracted its sphere of operations daily, 
 and, in the end, drove the invader to the seaboard, and 
 from thence to his departing vessels. 
 
 Old Humphries followed Davis to the door, and 
 again renewed the conversation. The landlord seemed 
 to have a good feeling for his guest, who had probably 
 been a crony of his own, and a favoured lover of his 
 daughter, before the British army had made its appear- 
 ance to compel a change of political sentiment in the 
 one, or a British sergeant, in his red coat and round 
 face, to effect as great a revolution in the bosom of the 
 other. His object seemed to be to persuade Davis into 
 a more cautious habit of forbearance, when speaking 
 of the existing powers ; and he warned him of the un- 
 hesitating nature of the enemy when punishing what 
 they held rebellion, and of the severe kinds of punish- 
 ment put in exercise on such occasions. But whether 
 it was that the youth really felt sorely, too sorely for 
 calm reflection, the loss of his sweetheart — >or whether 
 the assault of the sergeant had opened his eyes to the 
 doubtful tenure by which the American held his secu- 
 rity under the rule that now prevailed throughout the 
 land — may not well be said ; but there was a reckless 
 audacity in his replies to the friendly suggestions of 
 the landlord, which half-frightened the latter personage 
 out of his wits. 
 
 " I'd rather eat acorns, now, Master Humphries, I tell 
 you, and sleep in the swamps in August, than hush my 
 tongue when I feel it's right to speak. They shan't 
 crow over me, though I die for it ; and let them look 
 out ; for I tell you now, Dick Humphries, flesh and 
 blood can't stand their persecutions. There's no 
 chance for life, let 'lone property. Look how they 
 did Frampton's wife, and she in such a way ; and only 
 three days ago they tied up Tom Raysor's little boy 
 Ben, and give him a matter of fifty lashes with hick- 
 ories thick as my thumb, and all because the boy 
 wouldn't tell where his father was hiding." 
 
 " But you see, John, that all came of the hiding. 
 
36 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 If Frampton and Raysor had not taken to the swamp, 
 the old lady would have been let alone, and the boy 
 wouldn't have been whipt. Aint they in arms now 
 against his majesty ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and if his majesty goes on after this fashion 
 there will be a few more, I can tell you. Now, you 
 yourself, Dick Humphries, I put it to yourself, whether 
 the thing's right, and whether we ought to stand it. 
 Now, I know you of old, and know you're no more a 
 loyalist than — " 
 
 " Hush ! Bless us, John Davis, how you talk, boy ! 
 hush, hush !" and with an air of the greatest trepida- 
 tion, looking around and perceiving that, though the 
 stranger appeared to be reading very earnestly from 
 the pages of the " Royal (Charlestown) Gazette," he 
 was yet within hearing, the landlord led his companion 
 farther from the door, and the conversation, as it pro- 
 ceeded to its conclusion, was entirely lost to all ears 
 but their own. It was not long before Humphries re- 
 turned to the hall, and endeavoured to commence a sort 
 of desultory dialogue with the stranger guest, whose 
 presence had produced the previous quarrel. But this 
 personage seemed to desire no such familiarity, for 
 scarcely had the old man begun, when throwing down 
 the sheet he had been reading, and thrusting upon his 
 head the rakish cap which all the while had rested on 
 his knee, he rose from his seat, and moving rapidly to 
 the door of the apartment, followed the steps of Da- 
 vis, whom he beheld pursuing his way along the main 
 bridge road and towards the river. The path was 
 clear in this quarter ; not a solitary being, but them- 
 selves, was to be seen — by them at least. In the cen- 
 tre of the bridge — a crazy structure of ill-adjusted 
 timber thrown over a point of the stream where it 
 most narrowed — the pursuing stranger overtook the 
 moodily-wandering countryman. He stopped him in 
 his progress till he could come up with him, by a 
 friendly hail; and freely approaching him, tendered 
 him his open hand in a cordial salutation. The other 
 grasped it with honest pleasure. 
 
THE PARTISAN. 37 
 
 *' Master Davis, for such, I believe, is your name," 
 said the stranger, frankly, " I owe you thanks for so 
 readily, though I must say rashly, taking up my quar- 
 rel. I understand that your brusia with that soldier- 
 fellow was on my account; and though, like yourself, 
 I need nobody to fight my battles, I must yet thank 
 you for the good spirit which you have shown in this 
 matter." 
 
 " No thanks, stranger. I don't know what name to 
 call you — " 
 
 " No matter ; names are unnecessary, and the fewer 
 known the better in these doubtful times. I care not 
 to utter mine, though it has but little value. Call me 
 what you please." The other looked surprised, but 
 still satisfied, and replied after this fashion — 
 
 " Well, squire, as I said, you owe me no thanks at 
 all in this affair, for though I did take up the matter on 
 your hook, it was because I had a little sort of hanker- 
 ing to take it up on my own. 1 have long had a grudge 
 at that fellow, and I didn't care much on whose score 
 it began, so it had a beginning." 
 
 " He has done you wrong ?" half affirmatively, half 
 inquiringly, said his companion. 
 
 " Reckon he has, squire, and no small wrong neither ; 
 but that's neither here nor there, seeing there's little 
 help for it." 
 
 " How ! no help for it ! What may be the nature of 
 this injury, for which a man with your limbs and spirit 
 can find no help ?" 
 
 The countryman looked at the speaker with a curious 
 expression, in which a desire to confide, and a proper 
 hesitancy in intrusting his secret thoughts to a stran- 
 ger, were mingled equally. The other beheld the ex- 
 pression, and readily divining the difficulty, proceeded 
 to remove it. 
 
 " This man has wronged you, friend Davis : you 
 are his match — more than his match ; you have better 
 make and muscle, and manage your club quite as well 
 as he his broadsword : — why should you not have jus- 
 tice if you desire it ?" 
 
 Vol. I.— D 
 
38 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 4' If I desire it !" cried the other, and his black eye 
 sparkled. " I do desire it, squire ; but there's odds 
 against me, or we'd a-been at it afore this." 
 
 "What odds?" 
 
 "Look there !" and as Davis replied he pointed to 
 the fortress upon the opposite hill, a few hundred yards 
 off, where the cross of Great Britain streamed high 
 among the pine-trees, and from the entrance of which, 
 at that very moment, a small body of regulars were 
 pouring out into the stre6t, and proceeding with martial 
 music to the market-place. 
 
 " I see," replied the other — " I see ; but why should 
 they prove odds against you in a personal affair with 
 this sergeant 1 You have justice from them surely." 
 
 " Justice ! — such justice as a tory captain gives 
 when he wants your horse, and don't want to pay for 
 it." Davis replied truly, in his summing up of British 
 justice at that period. 
 
 " But you do not mean to say that the people would 
 not be protected, were complaints properly made to the 
 officers ?" 
 
 " I do ; and what's worse, complaint only goes after 
 new hickories. One man was strapped up only yester- 
 day, because he complained that Corporal Townes 
 kicked his wife and broke his crockery. They gave 
 him a hundred lashes." 
 
 " And yet loyalty must have its advantages, more 
 than equal to this usage, else" — and a smile of bitter 
 scorn played upon the lips of the speaker as he finished 
 the sentence — " else there would not be so many to 
 love it so well and submit to it so patiently." 
 
 The countryman gazed earnestly at the speaker, 
 whose eyes were full of a most searching expression, 
 which could not be misunderstood. 
 
 " Dang it, stranger," he cried, " what do you mean — • 
 who are you 1" 
 
 " A man — one who has not asked for a British pro- 
 tection, nor submitted to their hickories ;" and the form 
 of the stranger was elevated duly as he spoke, and 
 his eye was lighted up with scornful fires, as his re- 
 
THE PARTISAN. 39 
 
 ference was made sarcastically to the many in the neigh- 
 bourhood who had done both. The man's face was 
 flushed when he heard this reply ; the tears gathered 
 in his eyes, and with a bitter emphasis, though in low 
 tones, as if he felt all the shame of his acknowledg- 
 ment, he replied — 
 
 " God curse me, but I did ! I was one of those who 
 took a protection. Here it is — here's the paper. Here's 
 where I sold my country, and put myself down in 
 black and white, to be beaten like a dog with hickories. 
 But it's not too late ; and look you, stranger, I believe 
 you're true blue, but if you aint, why it's all the same 
 thing — I care not — you may go tell quick as you please ; 
 but I will break the bargain." 
 
 " How ? — speak !" and the form of the other was ad- 
 vanced and seemed to dilate, as he watched the earnest 
 glow in every feature of his companion. 
 
 " Hov/ ? — by tearing up the paper : see" — and, as he 
 spoke, he tore into small bits the guaranty of British 
 protection, which, in common with most of his neigh- 
 bours, he had been persuaded to accept from the com- 
 mandant for his security, and as a condition of that 
 return, which he pledged at the same time, to his duty 
 and his allegiance. 
 
 " Your life is in my hands," exclaimed Lis compan- 
 ion, deliberately. " Your life is in my hands." 
 
 " Take it !" cried tlie countrj'man, and he threw him- 
 self upon his guard, while his fingers clutched fiercely 
 the knife which he carried in his bosom. His small 
 person, slight but active, thrown back, every muscle in 
 action and ready for contest ; his broad-brimmed white 
 hat dashed from his brow ; his black glossy hair 
 dishevelled and flying in the wind; lips closely com- 
 pressed, while his deep, dark eye shot forth fires of 
 anger, fiercely enlivening the dusky sallow of his cheek 
 — all gave to him a most imposing expression of ani- 
 mated life and courage in the eye of his companion. 
 
 " Take it — take the worthless life !" he cried, inlov/ 
 but emphatic accents. " It is worthless, but you will 
 fight for it." 
 
40 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 The other regarded him with a look of admiration 
 sobered into calm. 
 
 " Your life is in my hands, but it is safe. God for- 
 bid, Master Davis," said he, with solemnity, " God 
 forbid that I should assail it. I am your friend, your 
 countryman, and I rejoice in what you have done. You 
 have done well and nobly in destroying that evidence 
 of your dishonour ; for it is dishonour to barter one's 
 country and its liberties for dastardly security — for 
 one's miserable life. You have done well ; but be noC 
 rash. Your movement must be in quiet. Nothing rash, 
 nothing precipitate. Every step you now take must 
 be one of caution, for your path is along the steeps of 
 danger. But come with me — you shall know more. 
 First secure those scraps ; they may tell tales upon 
 you ; a quick hand and close eye may put them toge- 
 ther, and then your neck would be fit game for the 
 halter yon sergeant warned you of. But what now— 
 what are the troops about 1" 
 
 The countryman looked, at his companion's question, 
 and beheld the troops forming in the market-place, 
 while the note of the bugle at intervals, and an occa- 
 sional sullen tap of the drum, gathered the crowd of 
 the village around them. 
 
 " It's a proclamation, squire. That's the market- 
 place, where they read it first. They give us one 
 every two or three days, sometimes about one thing, 
 sometimes another. If the cattle's killed by the whigs, 
 though it may be their own, there's a proclamation ;* but 
 we don't mind them much, for they only tell us to be 
 quiet and orderly, and. Heaven knows, we can't be more 
 so. They will next go to the church, where they will 
 again read it. That's nigher, and we can get round in 
 time to hear what it is. Shall we go, squire ?" The 
 other expressed bis willingness, and leaving the bridge, 
 they proceeded in the direction of the crowd. 
 
 * We have two or three grave proclamations of this sort on record^ 
 issued by the British generals in Carolina. 
 
THE PARTISAN. 41 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Keep thy counsel well. 
 
 And fear not. We shall mate with them in time. 
 And spoil them who would strike us. We are free, 
 And confidently strong — have arms and men — 
 Good fellows in the wood, that will not fly 
 When blows are to be borne." 
 
 Bv a short path the stranger and his companion 
 moved from the bridge to the place of gathering. It 
 was not long before they found themselves in the thick 
 of the crowd, upon the green plot in front of the church, 
 from the portals of which the heavy roll of the drum 
 commanded due attention from the populace. The 
 proclamation which the commander of the garrison at 
 Dorchester now proceeded to read to the multitude, 
 was of no small importance. Its contents were well 
 calculated to astound and terrify the Carolinians who 
 heard it. It was one of the many movements of the 
 British commander, unfortunately for the cause of roy- 
 alty in that region, which, more than any thing besides, 
 contributed to arouse and irritate that spirit of resist- 
 ance on the part of the invaded people, which it should 
 have been the studious policy of the invaders to mollify 
 and suppress. The document in question had been 
 just issued by Sir Henry Clinton, declaring all paroles 
 or protections granted hitherto to be null and void, and 
 requiring the holders of them, within twenty days, to 
 resume the character of British subjects — taking up 
 arms in the promotion of his majesty's cause, against 
 their brethren, under pain of being treated as rebels to 
 his government. The motive of Sir Henry for a 
 movement so exceedingly injudicious, may be only 
 conjectured from the concurrent circumstances of the 
 time. The continental army, under De Kalb, was on 
 its way to the South — Gates had been ordered to com- 
 D2 
 
42 THE PARTISAN". 
 
 mand it — and this intelligence, though not generally 
 known to the people of Carolina, could not long be 
 withheld from their possession. It was necessary to 
 keep them from any co-operation with their approach- 
 ing friends ; and no more effectual mode, simply con- 
 sidered by itself, could have been suggested to the 
 mind of the Briton than their employment under his 
 own banners. This apart, the invasion of the adjoining 
 states of Virginia and North Carolina had been long 
 since determined upon, and was now to be attempted. 
 Troops were wanted for this purpose, and no policy 
 seemed better than to expend one set of rebels upon 
 another. It was also necessary to secure the conquered 
 province ; and the terrors of the hangman were provi- 
 dently held out, in order to impel the conquered to the 
 minor risks of the bayonet and shot. The error was 
 a fatal one. From that hour the declension of British 
 power was precipitately hurried in Carolina ; the people 
 lost all confidence in those who had already so grossly 
 deceived them ; for the condition of the protection or 
 parole called for no military service from the citizen 
 who took it. He was simply to be neutral in the con- 
 test ; and however unworthy may have been the spirit 
 consenting even to this condition, it cannot be denied 
 that a foul deception had been practised upon them.. 
 The consequences were inevitable ; and the determined 
 hostility of the foe was coupled, on the part of the 
 Carolinians, with a wholesale scorn of the want of 
 probity manifested by the enemy they were now not 
 so unwilling to encounter. 
 
 From the church-porch the proclamation was again 
 read to the assembled multitude. The crowd was 
 variously composed, and various indeed was the effect 
 which it produced among them. The stranger and his 
 companion, at a little distance, listened closely to the 
 words of the instrument ; and a smile of joy, not un- 
 marked by Davis, played over the features of the 
 former as he heard it read. The latter looked his indig- 
 nation : he could not understand why such a paper 
 should give pleasure to his comrade, and could not 
 
THE PARTISAN. 43 
 
 forbear, in a whisper, demanding the occasion of his 
 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " It pleases you, squire 1 I see you smile !" 
 'It does please me — much, very much," responded 
 the other, quickly, and with emphasis, but in a whisper 
 also. 
 
 " What !" with more earnestness, said the country- 
 man — " what ! does it please you to listen to such 
 viUany as this ? I do not understand you." 
 
 " Not so loud, comrade ; you have a neck, and these 
 fellows a rope : besides, there's one to the left of us 
 whose looks I like not." 
 
 The other turned in the direction signified, and saw 
 the propriety of his companion's caution, as he beheld 
 within a few feet the harsh features of the notorious 
 Captain Huck, a furious and bloody tory-leader, well 
 known, and held in odious estimation, throughout the 
 neighbourhood. The stranger went on, still whis- 
 pering — 
 
 " Look pleased, friend Davis, if you can : this is 
 no time to show any but false colours to the enemy. 
 I am pleased, really, as you think, and have my reason 
 for being so, which you shall know in good time. Take 
 breath, and listen." 
 
 The paper was finished, and the detachment moved 
 on its way to the " George Tavern," the crowd generally 
 following ; and there it was again read. Our two friends 
 kept together, and proceeded with the multitude. The 
 stranger was eminently watchful and observant : he 
 noted well the sentiment of indignation which all faces 
 manifested ; there could be no doubt of that expres- 
 sion. The sober farmer, the thoughtless and gay- 
 hearted planter of the neighbourhood, the drudge, the 
 mechanic, the petty chapman — all had in their looks 
 that severe soberness which showed a thought and 
 spirit, active, and more to be respected, as they were 
 kept so well restrained. 
 
 " God save the king !" cried the ofiicer, as he con- 
 cluded the instrument, from the steps of the tavern. 
 
 " Ay, God save the king, and God bless him, too !" 
 
44 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 cried old Humphries, at the entrance. A few only of 
 the crowd gave back the cry, and even with them the 
 prayer was coldly uttered ; and there was nothing like 
 that spirit which, when the heart goes with the decree 
 of the ruler, makes the welkin ring with its unregulated 
 rejoicings. 
 
 " You are silent : you do not cry with the rest," said 
 one at the elbow of the stranger. He turned to behold 
 the features of the tory-captain, of whom we have 
 already spoken, who now, with a scrutinizing glance, 
 placed himself close beside the person he had ad- 
 dressed. The mean cunning — the low, searching ex- 
 pression of his look — Avere eminently disgusting to the 
 youth, who replied, while resuming his old position — 
 
 " What 1 God save the king ? Did I not say it ? It's 
 very natural ; for I'm so used to it. I'm quite wilHng 
 that God should save his majesty — God knows he 
 needs it." 
 
 This was said with a very devout countenance, and 
 the expression was so composed and quiet, that the 
 tory could say nothing, though still not satisfied, seem- 
 ingly, with much that was in the language. It sounded 
 very like a sneer, and yet, strictly speaking, it was 
 perfectly unexceptionable. Baffled in this quarter, the 
 loyalist, who was particularly desirous of establishing 
 his own claims to British favour, now turned with a 
 similar inquiry to Davis ; but the countryman was 
 ready, and a nudge in the side from his companion, 
 had any thing been wanting, moved him to a similar 
 answer. Huck was not exactly prepared to meet with 
 so much willingness on the part of two persons whose 
 movements he had suspected, and had been watching ; 
 but concluding them now to be well-affected, he did not 
 scruple to propose to them to become members of the 
 troop of horse he was engaged in raising. To the 
 stranger he first addressed himself, complimenting him 
 upon his fine limbs and figure, and insisting upon the 
 excellent appearance he would make, well-mounted and 
 in British uniform. A smile of sovereign contempt 
 overspread the youth's features as he listened to the 
 
THE PARTISAN. 45 
 
 tory patiently to the end. Calmly, then, he begged 
 permission to decline the proposed honour. 
 
 " Why, you are loyal, sir ?" he asked, seeming to 
 doubt. 
 
 " Who denies it ?" fiercely replied the stranger. 
 
 " Oh, nobody ; I mean nof to offend : but, as a 
 loyal subject, you can scarce withhold yourself from 
 service." 
 
 " I do not contemplate to do so, sir." 
 •And why not join my troop? Come, now, you 
 shall have a lieutenancy ; for, blast me, but I like your 
 looks, and would be devilish glad to have you. You 
 can't refuse." 
 
 "But I dp," said the other, calmly — almost con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " And wherefore ?" Huck inquired, with some show 
 of pique in his countenance and manner — " wherefore 1 
 What better service? and, to a soldier of fortune, let 
 me ask you, what better chances than now of making 
 every thing out of these d — d rebels, Avho have gone 
 into the swamps, leaving large estates for confiscation t 
 What better business ?" 
 
 " None : I fully agree with you." 
 
 " And ysu will join my troop V' 
 
 " No !" 
 
 The man looked astonished. The coolness and 
 composure with which the denial was made surprising 
 him not less than the denial itself. With a look of 
 doubt and wonderment, he went on — 
 
 " Well, you know best ; but, of course, as a good 
 citizen, you will soon be in arms : twenty days, you 
 know, are all that's allowed you." 
 
 " I do not need so many : as a good citizen, I shall 
 be in arms in less time." ' 
 
 " In whose troop ? — where ?" 
 
 'Ah, now we come to the point," was the sudden 
 reply ; " and you will now see why I have been able 
 to withstand the tempting offers you have made me. I 
 am thinking to form a troop of my own, and should I 
 do so, I certainly should not wish so much success to 
 yours as to fall into your ranks." 
 
46 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, rm glad, any how, that his majesty 
 is likely to be so well served with officers. Have you 
 yet applied for a commission to the commandant ?" 
 
 " No ; nor shall I, till my recruits are strong enough 
 to make my appearance respectable." 
 
 "That's right! I know that by experience. They 
 never like you half so well as when you bring your 
 men with you : they don't want officers so much as 
 men ; and some of the commands, if they can chouse 
 you out of your recruits, will not stop to do so ; and 
 then you may whistle for your commission. I sup- 
 pose your friend, here, is already secured for your 
 squad ?" 
 
 The tory referred to Davis, who did not leave his 
 companion to reply ; but, without scruple, avowed him- 
 self as having already been partially secured for the 
 opposition troop. 
 
 " Well, good luck to you. But I say, comrade, you 
 have commanded before — of course, you are prepared 
 to lead ?" 
 
 " I have the heart for it," was the reply ; and as the 
 stranger spoke, he extended his arms towards the tory 
 captain, while elevating his figure to its fullest height ; 
 " and you can say yourself for the limbs. As for the 
 head, it must be seen if mine's good for any thing." 
 
 " I doubt it not ; and service comes easy after a 
 brush or two. But wouldn't you like to know the 
 colonel ?" 
 
 " Who ? — Proctor — the colonel in command here ?" 
 
 " The same." 
 
 " In time, I'll trouble you, perhaps, to help me to 
 that knowledge. Not yet ; not till I get my recruits." 
 
 " You are right in that ; and, talking of the recruits, 
 I must see ^fter mine ; and, so, a good-evening to you, 
 and success. We shall meet again," The tory moved 
 among the separate groups as he spoke, and the stranger 
 turned to Davis, while he muttered — 
 
 " Ay, we shall meet again. Master Iluck, or it will 
 be no fault of mine. If we do not. Old Nick takes 
 marvellous care of his own. But, ha ! comrade, keep 
 you here awhile : there is one that I would speak with." 
 
THE PARTISAN. 47 
 
 At a little distance apart, at one wing of the 
 tavern, stood a man, attired in the blue homespun 
 common to the country wear, among the humbler 
 classes ; and with nothing particular to distinguish 
 him, if we may except a face somewhat more round 
 and rosy than belongs usually to the people dwelling in 
 Dorchester and its neighbourhood. He was like them 
 in one respect — having a sidelong, indirect movement, 
 coupled with a sluggish, lounging, indifferent gait, 
 which is the general feature of this people, unless 
 when roused by insult or provocation. In his hand he 
 carried a whip of common leather, which he smacked 
 occasionally, either for the sharp, shot-like sounds 
 which it sent forth, or when he desired to send to a 
 greater distance that most grumbling of all aristocrats, 
 the hog, as it approached him. The quick eye of the 
 stranger had singled out this personage ; and, leaving 
 Davis where he stood, and moving quickly through 
 the straggling groups that still clustered in front of the 
 tavern, he at once approached him confidently as an 
 old acquaintance. The other seemed not to observe 
 his coming, until our first acquaintance, speaking as he 
 advanced, caught his notice. This had no sooner been 
 done, than the other was in motion. Throwing aside 
 his sluggishness of look, he recognised by a glance the 
 stranger youth, and his head was bent forward to listen, 
 as he saw that he was about to speak. The words of 
 our old acquaintance were few, but significant — 
 
 " I am here before you — say nothing — lead on, and 
 I will follow." 
 
 Withanod^^e person addressed looked but once 
 at the speaker ; then, without a word, moving from his 
 easy position against the tavern, and throwing aside all 
 show of sluggishness, he led the way for the stranger ; 
 and, taking an oblique path, which carried them in a 
 short time into the neighbouring woods, they soon left 
 the village behind them. Davis had been reluctant 
 to separate from the companion to whom he had so 
 readily yielded his confidence. He had his doubts — 
 as who could be without them in that season of general 
 
48 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 distrust ? — but when he remembered the warm, manly 
 frankness of the stranger — his free, bold, generous, and 
 gentle countenance — ^he did not suffer himself to doubt 
 for a moment more that his secret would be safe in his 
 possession. This, indeed, was the least of his diffi- 
 culties. The fair coquette of the inn had attracted 
 him strongly, and, with a heavy heart, he turned into the 
 " Royal George ;" and, throwing his form at length 
 upon a bench, he solaced himself with an occasional 
 glance at Bella Humphries, whose duties carried her 
 to and fro between the bar and the sitting-room ; and 
 with thoughts of that vengeance upon his enemy 
 which his new position with the stranger seemed to 
 promise him. 
 
 Meanwhile, following the steps of the individual he 
 had so singled out, the latter kept on his way until the 
 village had been fairly passed ; then, plunging down a 
 little by-path, into which the former had gone, he soon 
 overtook him, and they moved on closely together in 
 their common progress. The guide was a stout able- 
 bodied person, of thirty years, or perhaps more — 
 a rough-looking man, one seemingly born and bred 
 entirely in the humble life of the country. He was 
 powerful in physical development, rather stout than 
 high, with a short, thick neck — a head round and large, 
 with eyes small, settled, and piercing — and features 
 even solemn in their general expression of severity. 
 He carried no visible weapons, but he seemed the man 
 to use them ; for no one who looked in his face could 
 doubt that he was full of settled purpose, firm in his 
 resolve, and reckless, having once delihnined, in the 
 prosecution of the most desperate enterprise. 
 
 The way they were pursuing grew more and more 
 tangled as they went, gradually sinking in level, until 
 the footing became slightly insecure, and at length 
 terminated in the soft oozy swamp surface common to 
 the margin of most rivers in the low country of the 
 south. They were now close on the banks of the 
 Ashley, which wound its way, perceptible to the two 
 in occasional glimpses, through the close-set foliage 
 by which they were surrounded. A few more strides 
 
THE PARTISAN. 49 
 
 thfough the copse and over the miry surface, brought 
 them again to a dry elevation, isolated by small sluices 
 of w^ater, and more closely wrapped in brush and cover- 
 ing. Here their progress was arrested, for they were 
 now perfectly secure from interruption. In all this time, 
 no word had been exchanged between the parties ; but 
 the necessity for farther caution being now over, they 
 came to a pause, and the silence was broken as follows 
 by our last-made acquaintance : — 
 
 " We are safe here, Major Singleton, and can now 
 speak freely. The sharpest scout in the British gar- 
 rison could not well come upon ns without warning, 
 and if he did, would do so by accident." 
 
 " I'm glad of it, for I'm heartily tired, and not a little 
 impatient to talk with you. But let us be at ease." 
 
 They threw themselves upon the ground — our elder 
 acquaintance, whom we now know as iMajor Singleton, 
 with an air of superiority which seemed familiar, choos- 
 ing the most favourable spot, while the other remained 
 standing until his companion had adjusted himself; 
 and then took his seat respectfully on the ridgy roots 
 of the pine-tree spreading over them. 
 
 " And now, Humphries," said Singleton, " what of 
 my sister — is she safe, and how did she bear the 
 journey ?" 
 
 " Safe, major, and well as could be expected, though 
 very feeble. We had some trouble crossing the San- 
 tee, but it did not keep us long, and we got on tolerably 
 well after. The whole party are now safe at ' The 
 Oaks.'" ^ . 
 
 " Well, you must guide me there to-night, if possible ; 
 I know nothing of the place, and but little of the coun- 
 try. Years have passed since I last went over it." 
 
 • " What ! have you never been at ' The Oaks,' major ? 
 I was told you had." 
 
 " Yes, when a boy ; but I have no distinct memory 
 on the subject, except of the noble trees, the thick 
 white moss, and the dreamy quiet of all things around. 
 The place, I know, is beautiful." 
 
 " You may well say so, major ; a finer don't happen 
 Vol. I.— E 
 
50 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 often in the low country, and the look at it from the 
 river is well worth a journey." 
 
 " Ah ! I have never seen it from that quarter. But 
 you said my uncle was well, and" — here the voice fal- 
 tered a little — " and my cousin Katharine — They are 
 all well ?" 
 
 " All well, sir. The old squire is rather down in 
 the mouth, you see, for he's taken a protection, and he 
 can't help seeing the troubles of the county. It's this 
 that makes his trouble ; and though he used, of old time, 
 to be a dashing, hearty, lively, talkative gentleman, 
 always pleasant and good-humoured, yet now he says 
 nothing ; and if he happens to smile at all, he catches 
 himself up a minute after, and looks mighty sorry for 
 it. Ah, major, these cursed protections — they've made 
 many a good heart sore in this neighbourhood, and the 
 worst is to come yet, or I'm mistaken." 
 
 " A sore subject, Humphries, and not very necessary 
 to speak on. But what news — what stirring, and how 
 get on our recruits ?" 
 
 " Slowly enough, major ; but that is to be expected 
 while the country is overrun with the red-coats. The 
 folks are afraid to move, and our poor swamp-boys 
 can't put their noses out yet — not until the enemy turns 
 his back on them for a while, and gives them chance 
 for a little skirmish, without the risk of the rope. But 
 things would change, I'm certain, if the great general 
 you spoke of, with the continentals, would only come 
 south. Our people only want an opportunity." 
 
 " And they shall have it. But what intelligence here 
 from the city ?" 
 
 " None, sir, or little. You heard tlie proclamation ?" 
 
 " Yes, witli joy — with positive delight. The move- 
 ment is a grand one for our cause : it must bring out 
 the ground-rats — those who skulked for safety into con- 
 tracts, measuring honour by acres, and counting their 
 duty to their country by the value of their crops." 
 
 " True — I see that, major, but that's the thing I 
 dread. Why should you desire to bring them out ?" 
 
 "Why, because, though with us in spirit and senti- 
 
THE PARTISAN, 51 
 
 ment, they yet thought to avoid danger, while they 
 believed themselves unable to serve us by their risk. 
 Now, forced into the field — compelled to fight — is it 
 not clear that the argument is all in favour of our side 1 
 Will they not rather fight in conformity with their feel- 
 ings and opinions than against them 1 particularly when 
 the latter course must place them in arms against their 
 friends and neighbours — not to speak of their country- 
 men — in many instances to their relatives, and the 
 members of their own families. By forcing into the 
 field those who were quiet before, Sir Henry Clinton 
 has forced hundreds into our ranks, who will be as 
 slow to lay down their weapons as they were to take 
 them up." 
 
 " I hope so, major ; but I fear that many will rather 
 strike for what seems the strongest, and not ask many 
 questions as to which is the justest side." 
 
 " No — this I fear not. The class of people on which 
 I rely are too proud to suffer this imposition, and too 
 spirited not to resist the indignity which it puts upon 
 them. They must be roused by the trick which has 
 been practised, and will shake off their sleep. Let us 
 hope for it, at least." 
 
 " I am willing, sir, but fear it. They have quite too 
 much at stake : they have too much plate, too many 
 negroes, and live too comfortably to be willing to stand 
 a chance of losing all by taking up arms against the 
 British, who are squat close alongside of them." 
 
 " So should I fear with you, Humphries, and for like 
 reasons, if the protections protected them. I doubt not 
 that they would be willing to keep quiet, and take no 
 part in this struggle, if the conquerors were wise enough 
 to let them alone ; but they kick and cuff them on all 
 occasions, and patriots are frequently made by kicking. 
 I care not for the process, so it gives us the commodity. 
 Let them kick on, and may they get extra legs for the 
 purpose !" 
 
 " Amen," said Humphries, gravely. Then changing 
 the topic somewhat, he asked him — 
 
 " You were with Jack Davis, of Goose Creek, major, 
 
52 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 when you first came up— I thought you were unknown 
 in these parts ?" 
 
 " You thought rightly ; I am still unknown, but I 
 learned to know something of him you speak of, and 
 circumstances threw us together." Here Singleton 
 related the occurrences at the tavern, as already known 
 to us. Humphries, who was the son of the landlord, 
 gave close attention, and with something more than 
 ordinary interest. He was not at any time a man to 
 show his feelings openly, but there was an increased 
 pressure of his lips together as that portion fell upon 
 his ear which described the interference of his sister, 
 the fair coquette Bella, for the protection of her cast- 
 off lover. His breathing was far less free at this 
 point of the narrative ; and when Singleton concluded, 
 the listener muttered, partly in soliloquy and partly in 
 reply— 
 
 " A poor fool of a girl, that sister of mine, major ; 
 loves the fine colours of the jay in spite of his cursed 
 squalling, and has played upon that good fellow, Davis 
 ' — Prickly Ash, as we sometimes call him in the vil- 
 lage — till he's half out of his wits. Her head, too, is 
 half turned with that red coat ; but I'll cure her of that, 
 and cure him too, or there's no virtue in twisted bore. 
 But, major, did you do any thing with Davis V 
 
 The answer was affirmative, and Humphries con- 
 tinued — 
 
 " That's a gain, sir ; for Davis is true, if he says it, 
 and comes of good breed : he'll fight like a bull-dog, 
 and his teeth shall meet in the flesh. Besides, he's a 
 great shot with the rifle, like most of the boys from 
 Goose Creek. His old mother kept him back, or he'd 
 a-joined us long ago, for I've seen how his thoughts 
 run. But it's not too late, and if the word's once out 
 of his mouth, he's to be depended on — he's safe." 
 
 " A few more will do. You have several others, 
 have you not, gathering in. a safe place!" said Sin- 
 gleton. 
 
 " In the swamp — thirteen, true as steel, and ready 
 for fight. They're only some six miles off, and can 
 
THE PARTISAN. 53 
 
 be brought up in two hours, at notice. See, this river 
 comes from the heart of the Cypress Swamp, where 
 they sheker ; and if there be no tory among us to show 
 them the track, I defy all Proctor's garrison to find us 
 out." 
 
 " We must be among them to-morrow. But the even- 
 ing wears, and the breeze freshens up from the river : 
 it is sweet and fresh from the sea — and how different, 
 too, from that of the forests ! But come — I must go 
 back, and have my horse in readiness for this ride to 
 * The Oaks,' where you must attend me." 
 
 " Your horse ! Where is he ?" asked the other, 
 quickly. 
 
 " In your father's stable." 
 
 " He must not be suffered to stay there ; if he is, 
 you will not have him long. We must hide him out, 
 or that black-hearted tory, Huck, will be on his quarters 
 before three days : he's beating about the country now 
 for horses as well as men." 
 
 " See to it, then, for 1 must run no such risk. Let 
 us return at once," said Singleton. 
 
 " Yes ; but we take different roads : we must not 
 know each other. Can you find the way back alone, 
 major V 
 
 " Yes — I doubt not." 
 
 " To the left now — round that water ; keep straight 
 up from the river for a hundred yards, and you fall into 
 the track. Your horse shall be ready in an hour, and 
 I will meet you at supper." 
 
 They parted — Singleton on his Avay as directed, and 
 Humphries burying himself still deeper in the copse. 
 E2 
 
54 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " It needs but to be bold — ^be bold — be bold — 
 Everywhere bold. 'Tis every virtue told ; 
 Courage and truth, humanity and skill, 
 The noblest cunning that the mind can will, 
 And the best charity." 
 
 It was not long before Singleton reached the tav- 
 ern, which he now found crowded. The villagers of 
 all conditions and politics had there assembled, either 
 to mutter over their doubts or discontents, or to gather 
 counsel for their course in future, from the many, wiser 
 than themselves, in their own predicament. There, 
 also, came the true loyalist, certain to lind deference 
 and favour from the many around him, not so happy or 
 so secure as himself in the confidence of the existing 
 powers. The group was motley enough, and the moods 
 at work among them not less so. Some had already 
 determined upon submission, — some of the weak — the 
 time-serving — such as every old community will be 
 found to furnish, where indolent habits, which have be- 
 come inveterate, forbid all sort of independence. Some 
 fluctuated, and knew not what to do, or even what to 
 think. But there were others. Singleton imagined, 
 as he looked into their grave, sullen features, full of 
 thought and pregnant with determination, who felt no- 
 thing so strongly as the sense of injustice, and the rebel- 
 daring which calls for defiance at every hazard. " Ven- 
 geance ! my men !" he muttered to himself, as, passing 
 full into the apartment, he became at once visible to 
 the group. The old landlord himself was the first per- 
 son who confronted him after that familiar fashion which 
 had already had its rebuke from the same quarter. 
 
 •' Ah, captain ! (the brow of Singleton darkened)— 
 squire I mean — I ask pardon, squire ; but here, where 
 
THE PARTISAN. 55 
 
 every man is a captain, or a colonel, or something, it 
 comes easy to say so to all, and is not often amiss. No 
 offence, squire — it's use, only, and I mean no harm." 
 
 " Enough, enough ! good Master Landlord ! Least 
 said, soonest mended. Shall we soon have supper ?" 
 
 The ready publican turned to the inner door of 
 the apartment and put the same question to his daugh- 
 ter, the fair Bella ; then, without waiting for her reply, 
 informed the inquirer that many minutes would not 
 elapse before it would be on table. 
 
 " Six o'clock's the time of day for supper, squire — 
 six for supper — one for dinner — eight for breakfast — 
 punctual to the stroke, and no waiting. Heh ! what's 
 that you say, Master Dickenson 1 — what's that about 
 Frampton ?" 
 
 Humphries turned to one of the villagers whose re- 
 marks had partially met his ear, and who had just en- 
 tered the apartment. The person so addressed came 
 forward; a thin-jawed, sallow countryman, whose eyes 
 were big with the intelligence he brought, and who 
 seemed anxious that a well-dressed and goodly-looking 
 stranger like Singleton should have the benefit of his 
 burden. 
 
 " Why, gentlemen, the matter with Frampton's strange 
 enough. You all know he's been out several days, close 
 in the swamp. He had a fight, stranger, you see, with 
 one of Huck's dragoons ; and he licked the dragoon, for 
 all the world, as if he'd a licked him out of his skin. 
 Now the dragoon's a strong fellow enough ; but Framp- 
 ton's a horse, and if ever he mounts you the game is 
 up, for there's no stopping him when he gets his hand 
 in. So, as I tell you, the dragoon stood a mighty slim 
 chance. He first brought him down with a backhanded 
 wipe, that came over his cheek for all the world like 
 the slap of a water-wheel — " 
 
 " Yes, yes, we all heard that ; but what was it all 
 about, Dickenson 1 — we don't know that, yet," cried 
 one of the group which had now formed around the 
 speaker. 
 
 " Why, that's soon told. The dragoon went to Framp- 
 
56 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 ton's house when he was in the swamp, and made free 
 with what he wanted. Big Barney, his elder son, 
 went off in the mean while to his daddy, and off he 
 came full tilt, with Lance his youngest lad along with « 
 him. You know Lance, or Lancelot, a smart chap of 
 sixteen : you've seed him often enough." 
 
 " Yes, yes, we know him." 
 
 " Well, as I tell you, the old man and his two boys 
 came full tilt to the house, and 'twas a God's mercy 
 they came in time, for the doings of the dragoon was 
 too ridiculous for any decent body to put up with, 
 and the old colt could'nt stand it no how ; so, as I tell 
 you, he put it to him in short order. He first gave him 
 a backhanded v^^ipe, which flattened him, I tell you ; 
 and when the sodger tried to get up, he put it to him 
 again so that it was easier for him to lie down than 
 to stand up ; and lie down he did, without a word, till 
 the other dragoons tuk him up. They came a few 
 minutes after, and the old man and the youngest boy 
 Lance had a narrow chance and a smart run for it. 
 They heard the troops coming down the lane, and they 
 took to the bush. The sodgers tried hard to catch 
 them, but it aint easy to hook a Goose-Creeker when 
 he's on trail for the swamp, and splashing after the 
 hogs along a tussock. So they got safe into the Cy- 
 press, and the dragoons had nothing better to do than 
 go back to the house. Well, they made Frampton's 
 old woman stand all sorts of treatment, and that too bad 
 to find names for. They beat her too, and she as 
 heavy as she could go. Well, then, she died night 
 afore last, as might be expected ; and now the wonder 
 is, what's become of her body. They laid her out ; and 
 the old granny that watched her only went into the 
 kitchen for a little while, and when she came back the 
 body was gone. She looked out of the window, and 
 sure enough she sees a man going over the rail with a 
 bundle all in white on his shoulder. And the man 
 looked, so she swears, for all the world like old Framp- 
 ton himself. Nobody knows any thing more about it ; 
 and what I heard, is jist now what I tell you " 
 
THE PARTISAN. 57 
 
 The man had narrated truly what he had heard ; and 
 ■what, in reality, with little exaggeration, was the truth. 
 The company had listened to one of those stories of bru- 
 tality, which — in the fierce civil warfare of the South, 
 when neighbours were arrayed against one another, and 
 when, on one side, negroes and Indians formed allies, 
 contributing, by their lighter sense of humanity, addi- 
 tional forms of terror to the sanguinary warfare pursued ' 
 at that period — ^were of almost daily occurrence. Huck, 
 the infamous tory captain, of whom we have already 
 obtained a slight glimpse in the progress of our narra- 
 tive, was himself of a character well fitted, by his ha- 
 bitual cunning and gross want of all the softening influ- 
 ences of humanity, to give comitenance, and even ex- 
 ample, to crimes of this nature. His dragoons, though 
 few as yet in number, and employed only on maraud- 
 ing excursions calling for small parties, had already 
 become notorious for their outrages of this descrip- 
 tion. Indeed, they found impunity in this circumstance. 
 In regular warfare, under the controlling presence of 
 crowds, the responsibility of his men, apart from what 
 they owed or yielded to himself, would have bound 
 them certainly in some greater restraints ; although, to 
 their shame be it said, the British generals in the 
 South, when mortified by defeat and vexed by unex- 
 pected resistance, were themselves not always more 
 tenacious of propriety than the tory Huck. The san- 
 guinary orders of Cornwallis, commanding the cold- 
 blooded execution of hundreds, are on record, in melan- 
 choly attestation to this day of the atrocities committed 
 by the one, and the persecutions borne by the other 
 party, during that memorable conflict. 
 
 It could easily be seen what was the general feeling 
 during this recital, and yet that feeling was unspoken. 
 Some few shook their heads very gravely, and a few, 
 more daring yet, ventured to say, that " it was very bad, 
 very bad indeed — very shocking !" 
 
 " What's very bad, friends ? what is it you speak of 
 as so shocking ?" was the demand of one just entering. 
 The crowd started back, and Huck himself stood among 
 
6» THE PARTISAN. 
 
 them. He repeated his inquiry, and with a manner that 
 left it doubtful whether he really desired to know what ' 
 had been the subject of their remarks, or whether, hav- 
 ing heard, he wished to compel some of them to the 
 honest utterance of their sentiments upon it. Single- 
 ton, who had listened with a duly-excited spirit to the 
 narrative of the countryman, now advanced deliberately 
 towards the new-comer, whom he addressed as in an- 
 swer to his question — 
 
 " Why, sir, it is bad, very bad indeed, the treatment 
 received, as I learn, by one of his majesty's dragoons, at 
 the hands of some impudent rebel a few nights ago. You 
 know, sir, to what I allude. You have heard, doubtless." 
 
 The bold, confident manner of the speaker was suf- 
 ficiently imposing to satisfy all around of his loyalty. 
 Huck seemed completely surprised, and replied freely 
 and with confidence — 
 
 " Ay, you mean the affair of that scoundrel, Frampton. 
 Yes, I know all about it ; but we're on his trail, and shall 
 soon make him sweat for his audacity, the blasted rebel." 
 
 " Do 5'^ou know that his wife died?" asked one of 
 the countrymen, in a tone subdued to one of simple 
 and inexpressive inquiry. 
 
 " No — and don't care very greatly. It's a bad breed, 
 and the misfortune is, there's quite too many of them. 
 But we'll thin them soon, and easily, by God ! and the 
 land shall be rid of the reptiles." 
 
 " Yes, captain, we think alike," said Singleton, fa- 
 miliarly — " we think alike on that subject. Something 
 must be done, and in time, or there will be no com- 
 fortable moving for a loyalist, whether in swamp 
 or highway. They have it in their power to do mis- 
 chief, if not taken care of in time. It is certainly our 
 policy to prevent our men from being ill-treated by 
 them, and to do this, they must be taken in hand early. 
 Rebellion grows like nut-grass when it once takes root, 
 and runs faster than you can find it. It should be seen to." 
 
 " That is my thought already, and accordingly I have 
 a good dog on trail of this lark, Frampton, and hope 
 soon to have him in. He cannot escape Travis, my 
 
THE PARTISAN. 59 
 
 lieutenant, who is now after him, and who knows the 
 swamp as well as himself. They're both from Goose 
 Creek, and so let dog eat dog." 
 
 " You have sent Travis after him, then, captain ?" 
 inquired a slow and deliberate voice at Hack's elbow. 
 Singleton turned at the same moment with the person 
 addressed, recognising in the speaker his own lieuten- 
 ant, the younger Humphries, who had got back to the 
 tavern almost as soon as himself. Humphries, of whose 
 Americanism we can have no sort of question, had yet 
 managed adroitly, and what with his own cunning and 
 his father's established loyalty, he was enabled, not only 
 to pass whhout suspicion, but actually to impress the 
 tories with a favourable opinion of his good feeling for 
 the British cause. This was one of those artilices 
 which the necessities of the times imposed upon most 
 men, and for which they gave a sufficient moral sanc- 
 tion. 
 
 "Ah, Bill, my boy," saidHuck, turning as to an old 
 acquaintance, " is that you ! — why, where have you 
 been? — haven't seen you for an age, and didn't well 
 know what had become of you — thought you might 
 have gone into the swamps too Aviththe skulking rebels." 
 
 " So I have," replied the other calmly — •' not with 
 the rebels, though. I see none of them to go with — but 
 I have been skirting the Cypress for some time, gather- 
 ing what pigs the alligators Ifound no use for. Pigs and 
 poultry are the rebels I look after. You may judge of 
 my success by their bawling." 
 
 In confirmation of what Humphries had said, at that 
 moment the collection of tied pigs with which his cart 
 had been piled, and the tethered chickens undergoing 
 transfer to a more fixed dwelling, and tumbled from the 
 mass where they had quietly but confusedly lain for 
 an hour or two before, sent up a most piteous pleading, 
 which, for the time, effectually silenced the speakers 
 within. A moment's pause obtained, Humphries re- 
 verted, though indirectly, to the question which he had 
 put to the tory captain touching the pursuit of Framp- 
 
60 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 ton by Travis ; and, without exciting his suspicion 
 by a positive inquiry, strove to obtain information. 
 
 " Travis will find Frampton if he chooses, — he knows 
 the swamp quite as well — and a lean dog for a long 
 chase, you know, — that is, if you have given him men 
 enough." 
 
 " I gave him all he wanted : ten, he said, would an- 
 swer : he could have had more. He'll catch him, or 
 I'm mistaken." 
 
 " Yes, if he strikes a good route. The old paths 
 are Avashed now by the freshet, and he may find it hard 
 to keep track. Now, the best path for him to take, 
 captain, would have been up over Terrapin Bridge by 
 Turkey Town. That will bring him right into the heart 
 of the swamp, where it's most likely Frampton hides." 
 
 " Terrapin Bridge — Turkey Town," said the other, 
 seeming to muse. " No, he said nothing of these 
 places : he spoke of — " 
 
 " Droze's old field," exclaimed Humphries, some- 
 what eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, that's the name ; he goes that route ; and I 
 remember he spoke of another, where he said the wa- 
 ters were too high." 
 
 " Ay — and does he think to find Frampton on the 
 skirts ? — and then, what a round-about way by Droze's ! 
 eh ! neighbours ? — he can't be there before midnight. 
 But, of course, he went there in time," said Humphries, 
 insinuating the question. 
 
 " Only two hours gone," replied the other, giving the 
 desired intelligence ; " but he won't do more than stretch 
 to the swamp to-night. He wants to be ready to make 
 a dash with the daylight upon them, when he hopes to 
 find the fellow not yet out of his nest." 
 
 Humphries looked approvingly as he heard the plan, 
 and he exchanged glances of intelligence at intervals 
 with Singleton, who listened attentively to this dia- 
 logue, which had wormed out the secret of one of those 
 little adventures of Huck's party, in which his com- 
 mand was most generally employed. The look of Sin- 
 gleton spoke clearly to Humphries his desire of the 
 
THE PARTISAN. 61 
 
 Strife ; and the other, with a due correspondence of 
 feeling", was yet prudent enough to control its expres- 
 sion in his features. In the mean time, Huck, who 
 had long been desirous of securing Humphries for his 
 troop, now pressed the latter more earnestly than ever 
 upon that subject. Taking him aside, he detailed to 
 him in an under-tone the thousand advantages of profit 
 and position which must result to him from coming out 
 in arms for his majesty, and in his, Captain Huck's, 
 particular command of cavalry. It was amusing to 
 observe how much stronger became his anxiety when- 
 ever his eye rested upon the form of Singleton, whom 
 he now regarded in the light of a rival leader. The eye 
 of young Humphries, also, glanced frequently in the 
 same direction, as, from a previous knowledge of the 
 character of Singleton, he felt how impatient he would 
 be until he could make the attack which he saw he 
 contemplated upon the marauding party which had 
 been sent out under Travis. It was in such little ad- 
 ventures that the partisan warfare of Carolina had its 
 origin. 
 
 Humphries, closely pressed by Huck, had yet inge- 
 nuity enough to evade his application without offend- 
 ing his pride or alarming his suspicions. He made 
 sundry excuses simply as to time, leaving the tory to 
 infer that in the end the recruit would certainly be his. 
 
 " You will soon have to come out. Bill, my boy ; and 
 dang it, but there's no better chance than you have in 
 my troop. You shall be my right-hand man, for I 
 know you, old fellow — and blast me, but I'd sooner 
 trust you than any chap of the corps. I may as well 
 put you down." 
 
 " No, not yet : I'll be ready to answer you soon, and 
 I can easily make my preparations. You have arms 
 a-plenty ?" 
 
 " Soon shall have. Three wagons are on their way 
 from Charlestown with sabres and pistols especially 
 for us." 
 
 " I shall, no doubt, Avant some of them, and you shall 
 
 Vol. I.— F 
 
62 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 then hear from me. There is time enough in all next 
 week." 
 
 " Yes ; but be quick about it, or there will be no 
 picking ; and then you have but twenty days, remem- 
 ber. The proclamation gives but twenty days, and 
 then Cornwallis has sworn to treat as rebels, with the 
 utmost severity of the law, all those who are not in 
 arms for his majesty — ^just the same as if they had 
 fought against him. See, I have it here." 
 
 He took from his pocket the proclamation, and with 
 it a private order, which was issued by the commander- 
 in-chief to all the subordinate commands, giving direc- 
 tions for the utmost severity, and prescribing the mode 
 of punishment for the refractory, nearly in the language 
 and to the full effect of Huck's representations. Hum- 
 phries looked grave enough at these crowding evi- 
 dences, but resisted, by well-urged evasions, the ex- 
 hortations of the tempter. The tory captain was com- 
 pelled to rest satisfied for the present, assured that he 
 had held forth especial inducements to the countryman 
 which must give his troop a preference in his eye over 
 any claims that might be set up by the rival recruiting 
 officer, as he considered Singleton. With a hearty 
 shake of the hand, and a few parting words in whisper 
 to his companion, he left the hotel to make his way — a 
 subtle sycophant with his superiors — to the presence 
 of Colonel Proctor of the Dorchester garrison, from 
 whom he had received his commission. 
 
 Singleton, while this episode of Humphries and the 
 tory had been going on, employed himself in oc- 
 casional conversation with the landlord and sundry of 
 the villagers in another end of the apartment. In this 
 conversation, though studiously selecting topics of a na- 
 ture not to startle or offend the fears or the prejudices 
 of any, he contrived, with no little ingenuity, to bring 
 about, every now and then, occasional expressions of 
 their feelings and opinions. He saw, from these few 
 and brief evidences, that their feelings were not with 
 their rulers — that they subscribed, simply, to a hard ne- 
 cessity, and would readily seek the means of relief, did 
 
THE PARTISAN. 63 
 
 they know where to find it. He himself took care, 
 while he uttered nothing which could be construed into 
 an offence against loyalty, to frame what he did say in 
 such a guise that it must have touched and ministered 
 largely to the existing provocations. He could see 
 this in the burning indignation strong in every counte- 
 nance, as he dwelt upon the imperative necessity they 
 were now under of taking up arms in obedience to the 
 proclamation. His urging of this topic was, like that 
 of Huck, ostensibly the obtaining of recruits for his 
 contemplated troop. His policy was one frequently 
 acted upon in that strange warfare, in which the tories, 
 when defeated, found few conscientious scruples to re- 
 strain them from falling into the ranks and becoming 
 good soldiers along with their conquerors. Such de- 
 vices as that which he now aimed to practise were 
 freely resorted to ; and the case was not uncommon of 
 a troop thus formed under the eye of the enemy, and, 
 in his belief, to do the battles of the monarch, moving 
 off, en masse, the first opportunity, and joining with 
 their fellow-countrymen, as well in flight as in victory. 
 Such, however, was scarcely now the object of the 
 stranger : he simply desired that his loyalty might pass 
 unquestioned ; and he put on a habit, therefore, as a dis- 
 guise, which but too many natives wore with far less scru- 
 ple, and perhaps with some show of grace. It may be 
 said, as highly gratifying to Singleton, that in the char- 
 acter thus assumed he made no converts. 
 
 But the bell for supper was now ringing, and taking 
 his way with the rest, he passed into the inner apart- 
 ment. Bella Humphries presided, her brother taking 
 a seat at the other end of the table, and ministering to 
 the guests in that quarter. Singleton was assigiaed a 
 seat, possibly by way of distinction, close to the 
 maiden, who smiled graciously at his approach. Still 
 she looked not so well satisfied. Neither of her squires 
 was present, and her eye wandered from side to side 
 among her unattractive countrymen at the table, rest- 
 ing at last, as with a dernier hope, upon the manly but 
 handsome face and person of our adventurer. While she 
 
b4 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 did SO, he had an opportunity of scanning het- features 
 more narrowly. She was very girhsh, certainly very 
 youthful, in appearance, and her face was decidedly 
 handsome. He saw, at a glance, that she was incapa- 
 ble of any of that settled and solemn feeling which 
 belongs to love, and which can only exist along with 
 a strongly-marked character and truly elevated senti- 
 ments. Her desire was that of display, and conquest 
 made the chief agent to this end. It mattered not how 
 doubtful was the character of her captives, so that they 
 ■were numerous ; and Singleton felt assured that his 
 simple Goose Creek convert, Davis, but for the red 
 coat and the command, stood quite as good a chance 
 in the maiden's heart as the more formidable sergeant. 
 How long he would have watched the features which 
 seemed not unwilling to attract his eye, we may not 
 say ; but his gaze was at length disturbed by the en- 
 trance of Davis, who, taking his seat at the opposite 
 corner of the table, now appeared in a better and a more 
 conciliating humour. He addressed some country 
 compliment to Bella, which she was not displeased to 
 listen to, as she was perfectly satisfied to have a 
 swain, no matter who, in the absence of the greater 
 favourite. She answered some few remarks of Single- 
 ton and Davis with a pretty, childish simplicity, which 
 showed that, after all, the misfortune of the girl was 
 only a deficiency in the more interesting points of char- 
 acter, and not the presence of an improper or a wanton 
 capriciousness of feeling. 
 
 Meantime the supping proceeded, and towards its 
 conclusion, Humphries the brother, giving Davis a 
 look and a sign, which the latter seemed to compre- 
 hend, left the apartment. Davis followed him ; and 
 they were gone about a quarter of an hour, which time 
 had been spent by Singleton in a lively chat with 
 the girl, when, through the window, he saw the face of 
 a man, and the motion of a hand which beckoned him. 
 In a moment after the person was gone ; and suff'ering 
 some few seconds to elapse, he also rose and obeyed 
 the signal. He took his way into the yard, and under 
 
THE PARTISAN. 6S 
 
 the shadow of a tree, at a little distance from the house, 
 distinguished the person of Humphries. Singleton at 
 once approached him — the other motioned silence, 
 seeing him about to speak, and led him to the stable, 
 where all was perfectly in shadow. 
 
 " We are safe now," said he. Singleton immediately- 
 addressed him, and with some show of impatience, on 
 a subject which had much employed his thoughts during 
 the past hour. 
 
 " Humphries, say, can we not strike at that fellow 
 Tracy 1 Is it possible to do any thing with his de- 
 tachment ?" 
 
 " Travis, not Tracy, major," replied the other. " It 
 is possible, sir ; and there is a strong chance of our 
 success if we manage well, and if so be you can post- 
 pone going to ' The Oaks' to-night." 
 
 " True," said the other ; " I should like ver}' much 
 to go, but this movement of Tracy — or Travis, you 
 say — gives us a good beginning, which we ought on no 
 account to miss. Besides, we should put your men on 
 'iheir guard — are they not in danger ?" 
 
 " Not if they watch well ; but there's no answering 
 for new hands. They must have practice before they 
 can learn, and down here they've had but little yet. 
 They're not like your Santee boys I've heard you 
 lell of." 
 
 " Willing soon will ! But let us move. I'll say no 
 more of ' The Oaks' to-night at least. We can move 
 there to-morrow. Of course you lead the route, for I 
 know nothing about it." 
 
 " Trust to me ; and, major, go back to the house 
 quietly. Wait till you hear my whistle three times — 
 thus. It's an old signal, which you'll have to learn 
 here, as our little squad all knows it, and knows nothing 
 else by way of music. Meantime I'll get things in readi- 
 ness, and set Davis to carry out the horses to the bush." 
 
 " Is he bent to go with us V was Singleton's question. 
 
 " True as steel. A little weak o' heart, sir, about 
 that foolish girl — but that's all the better, for it makes 
 him hate the British the more. Here he comes. You 
 F2 
 
66 tHE PARTISAN. 
 
 had better go now, major, and let us be as little seen 
 together as may be. You'll mind the whistle — thus, 
 three times ;" and in a low tone Humphries gave him 
 the signal. Singleton went towards the house, in the 
 shadow of which he was soon lost from sight, while 
 Humphries and Davis proceeded to the farther arrange- 
 ments. 
 
 It was not long before these were completed, and 
 ■with a rush of pleasure to his heart, Major Singleton 
 heard the thrice-uttered note — the signal agreed upon 
 — directly beneath his chamber window. He rose at 
 the sound, and silently descending the stairs, passed 
 through the hall, where, in something like uncomfort- 
 able sohtude, the fair Bella sat alone. She looked up 
 as she heard his footsteps, and the gracious smile 
 which her lips put on, was an invitation to make him- 
 self happy in a seat beside her. But he resisted the 
 blandishment, and lifting his hat as he passed, with 
 a smile in return, he soon disappeared from her pres- 
 ence, and joined the two who awaited him. All was 
 ready for departure, but Davis craved a few minutes' 
 indulgence to return to the house. 
 
 " Why, what should carry you back, Davis ?" asked 
 Humphries, peevishly. 
 
 " Nothing, Bill ; but I must — I will go," said the 
 other. 
 
 " I see, I see : you will be as foolish as ever," ex- 
 claimed the former, as the lover moved away. " The 
 poor fellow's half mad after my sister, major, and she, 
 you see, don't care a straw about him. She happened 
 to smile on him at supper-table, and he takes it for 
 granted he's in a fair way. We must wait for him, I 
 suppose ; and if I know Bella, he won't keep us long." 
 
 Meanwhile, the seat beside her, which her smile had 
 beckoned Major Singleton to occupy, had been comfort- 
 ably filled by Davis. The girl was not displeased to 
 see him : she was lonesome, wanted company, and 
 liked, as all other coquettes do, to have continually in 
 her presence some one or other of the various trophies 
 of her conquest — she cared not materially which. Her 
 
THE PARTISAN. 67 
 
 graciousness softened very greatly the moody spirit of 
 her swain, so that he half-repented of that rashness 
 which was about to place him in a position calculated, 
 under every probability, to wrest him, for a time 
 at least, from the enjoyment of that society which 
 he so much coveted. Her gentleness, her good-nature, 
 her smiles — so very unfrequent to him for so long a 
 time — almost turned his brain, and his professions of 
 love grew passionate, and he himself almost eloquent 
 in their utterance. Surely, there is no tyramiy like 
 that of love, since it puts us so completely in subjection 
 to the character which deliberate reason must despise. 
 In the midst of his pleading, and while she regarded 
 him with her most gracious smile, the voice of the ob- 
 trusive Sergeant Hastings was heard in the tap-room, 
 and the sweet passages of love were at once over be- 
 tween the couple. " As rocks that have been rent 
 asunder" was their new position. The maiden drew 
 her chair a foot back from its place, and when Davis 
 looked into her face, and beheld the corresponding 
 change in its expression, he rose up, with a bitter curse 
 in his throat, which he was nevertheless too well- 
 behaved to utter. He wanted no better evidence of 
 her heartlessness, and with a look which said what 
 his tongue could not have spoken, he seemed to warn 
 her that he was lost to her for ever. His determination 
 was at length complete, and rapidly passing the luckier 
 sergeant, who now entered the apartment, he was soon 
 again in company with the two he had left in waiting. 
 Humphries smiled as he saw the desperate manner of 
 his comrade, but nothing was said, and the three to- 
 gether made their way on foot, till, leaving the village, 
 they entered the forest to the right, and found the clump 
 of trees to which their horses had been fastened. In a 
 moment they were mounted and speeding with the 
 wind towards the close and scarcely penetrable estuary 
 known as the Cypress Swamp, and forming a spacious 
 reservoir for the Ashley, from which, by little and 
 little, widening as it goes, it expands at length, a few 
 miles below, into a noble and navigable river, 
 
68 THIS PARTISAN. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Stretch out thy wand before thou set'st thy foot ; 
 'Tis a dim way before thee, and the trees 
 Of bygone centuries have spread their arms 
 Athwart thy path. Now make thy footing sure ; 
 And now, God cheer us, for the toil is done." 
 
 Night had fairly set in — a clear starlight night — 
 before the three set forth upon their proposed adven- 
 ture. To Major Singleton, who was a native of the 
 middle country, and had lived heretofore almost exclu- 
 sively in it, the path they now travelled was entirely 
 unknown. It was necessary, therefore, to move on 
 slowly and with due circumspection. But for this, the 
 party would have advanced with as much speed as if 
 they were pursuing the common highway ; for, to the 
 other two, accustomed all their lives to the woodland 
 cover and the tangled recesses of the swamps, their 
 present route, uncleared, in close thicket growth, and 
 diverging as it continually did, was, nevertheless, no 
 mystery. Though delayed, however, by this cause, the 
 delay was much less than might have been expected ; 
 for Singleton, however ignorant of the immediate 
 gi'ound over which they sped, was yet thoroughly 
 versed in forest life, and had traversed the longer and 
 denser swamps of the Santee, a task, though similar, 
 infinitely more difficult and extensive than the one now 
 before him. After a little while, therefore, when his 
 eye grew more accustomed to the peculiar shades 
 about him, he spurred his good steed forward with 
 much more readiness than at their first setting out, and 
 it was not long before the yielding of the soil beneath 
 his hoofs and the occasional plash of the water, toge- 
 
THE PARTISAN. 69 
 
 ther with the more frequent appearance of the solemn 
 and ghostly cypresses around them, gave sufficient in- 
 dication of the proximity of the swamp. 
 
 They had ridden some five miles, and in all this 
 time no word had been spoken by either of the three, 
 except when, here and there, an increased difficulty in 
 the path led Humphries to the utterance of some cau- 
 tion to his companions. They were now close upon 
 the cypress causeway, and the swamp Avas gathering 
 around them. Their pace grew slower and more fa- 
 tiguing, for the freshet had swept the temporary struc- 
 ture over which they rode, and many of the rails were 
 floating in their path. Little gaps were continually 
 presenting themselves, many of which they saw not, 
 but which, fortunately for their safety, were gener- 
 ally avoided by the horses without any call for inter- 
 ference on the part of their riders. Stumbling some- 
 times, however, they were warned not to press their 
 animals ; and picking their way with as much care as 
 p»ossible, they went on in single file, carefully and 
 slowly, over the narrow and broken embankment. It 
 was at this part of their progress that Humphries broke 
 out more freely into speech than he had done before, 
 for his usual characteristic was that of taciturnity. 
 
 " Now, I do hate these dams and causeways ; our 
 people know nothing of road-making, and they ridge 
 and bridge it, while our bones ache and our legs go 
 through at every step we take in going over them. Yet 
 they won't learn — they won't look or listen. They do 
 as they have done a hundred years before, and all your 
 teaching is of no manner of use. Here is this cause- 
 way now — every freshet must break its banks and tear 
 up the poles, yet they come back a week after, and 
 lay them down just as before. They never ask if 
 there's a way to build it, which is to make it lasting. 
 They never think of such a thing. Their fathers did 
 so a hundred years ago, and that's reason enough why 
 they should do so now." 
 
 " And what plan have you, Humphries, by which to 
 make the dam solid and strong against the freshets, 
 
70 THE PARTISAN". 
 
 such as we have, that sweep every thhig before them, 
 and sometimes give us half a dozen feet of water for a 
 week, over a road that we have been accustomed to 
 walk dryshod ?" 
 
 " To be sure there is a way, major, and with far 
 less labour. There's no use in building a road unless 
 you give it a backbone. You must run a ridge through 
 it, and all the freshets make it stronger, for they wash 
 the refuse and the mud up against it, instead of wash- 
 ing it away. You see all good roads rise in the centre. 
 The waters run off and never settle, which they always 
 do in the hollows between these poles. You fell your 
 tree, always a good big one, to make your ridge — your 
 backbone ; and if it be a causeway like this, running 
 through a swamp, that you would build, why, you fell 
 your dozen trees, or more, according to the freshet's 
 call for them. You lay them side by side, not across, 
 but up and down the road, taking care to put the big 
 ones in the centre. So you may run it for miles, 
 heaping the earth up to the logs. A road made after 
 that fashion will stand a thousand years, while such a 
 thing as this must always be washing away with every 
 fresliet. It takes, in the first place, you see, a great 
 deal more of labour and time, and a great deal more 
 of timber, to build it after this fashion; then, it takes 
 more dirt to cover the rails — a hundred times the quan- 
 tity — and unless they're well covered, they can't be 
 kept down ; they will always come loose, and be float- 
 ing with every rain, and then the water settles heavily 
 in their places and between them. This can't be the 
 case where you lay the timber up and down, as 1 tell 
 you. It must stand fast ; for the rain can't settle, and 
 the earth gathers close to the ridge, and hugs it tighter 
 the more the water beats on it. Besides, building it 
 this way, you use heavy timber, which the waters can't 
 move at any season. But here we stop ; we have no 
 farther use for the causeway to-night ; there's our 
 mark. See to that white tree there ; it's a blasted pine, 
 and it shines in a dark night as if it was painted. The 
 lightning peeled it from top to toe. It's a'most two 
 
THE PARTISAN. '''l 
 
 years since. I was not far off in the swamp, catching 
 terapins, when it was struck, and I was stupiiied for 
 an hour after, and my head had a ringing in it I didn't 
 get rid of for a month." 
 
 " What, do we go aside here ?" inquired Davis, wlio 
 did not seem to relish the diversion, as the first plunge 
 they were required to make from the broken causeway 
 was into a turbid pond, black, and almost covered with 
 fragments of decayed timber and loose bundles of 
 brush. 
 
 " Yes, that's our path," replied Humphries, who res- 
 olutely put his horse forward as he spoke. 
 
 " This is about one of the worst places, major, that 
 we shall have to go through, and we take it on purpose, 
 so that we may not be tracked so easily. Here, when 
 we leave the causeway, we make no mark, and few 
 people think to look for us in the worst place on the 
 line. No, indeed ; most people have a love to make 
 liard things easy, though they ought to know that when 
 a man wants to hide, he takes a hole, and not a high- 
 way, to do it in. Here, major, this way — to your left, 
 Davis — through the bog." 
 
 The party followed as their guide directed, and after 
 some twenty minutes' plunging, they were deep in the 
 shadow and the shelter of the swamp. The gloom 
 was thicker around them, and was only relieved by the 
 pale and skeleton forms of the cypresses, clustering in 
 groups along the plashy sides of the still lake, and 
 giving meet dwelling-places to the screech-owl, that 
 hooted at intervals from their rugged branches. Some- 
 times a phosphorescent gleam played over the stagnant 
 pond, into which the terapin plunged heavily at their 
 approach ; while on the neighbouring banks the frogs of 
 all degrees croaked forth their inharmonious chant, 
 making the scene more hideous, and certainly adding 
 greatly to the sense of gloom which it inspired in those 
 who penetrated it. A thousand other sounds tilled up 
 the pauses between the conclusion of one and the 
 commencement of another discordant chorus from these 
 admitted croakers — sounds of alarm, of invitation, of 
 
72 THE PARTISAN.' 
 
 exulting tyranny — the cry of the little bird, when the 
 black-snake, hugging the high tree, climbs up to the 
 nest of her young, while, with shrieks of rage, flapping 
 his roused wings, the mate flies furiously at his head, 
 and gallantly enough, though vainly, endeavours to 
 drive him back from his unholy purpose — the hum 
 of the drowsy beetle, the faint chirp of the cricket, and 
 the buzz of the innumerable thousands of bee, bird, and 
 insect, which make the swamps of the South, in mid- 
 summer and its commencement, the vast storehouse, in 
 all its forms, of the most various and animated life — 
 all these were around the adventurers, with their gloomy 
 and distracting noises, until they became utterly un- 
 heeded at last, and the party boldly kept its onward 
 course into their yet deeper recesses. 
 
 " Well, Humphries," said Major Singleton, at length 
 breaking the silence, " so far, so good ; and now what 
 is our farther progress, and what the chances for trap- 
 ping this Travis 1 Will he not steal a march upon us, 
 and be into the swamp before daylight ?" 
 
 " Never fear it, major," replied the other, coolly 
 enough, while keeping on his way. " You remember, 
 sir, what Huck gave us of his plan. He will place 
 himself upon the skirts of the swamp, high above the 
 point at which we struck, and keep quiet till morning. 
 He will be up betimes, and all that we must do is to be 
 up before him. We have a long ride for it, as it is one 
 part of our work to stop him before he gets too far 
 into the brush. I know his course just as if I saw him 
 on it." 
 
 " Yes ; such indeed may have been the plan; but is 
 there no chance of his departing from it ? A good 
 leader will not hold himself bound to a prescribed 
 course, if he finds a better. He may push for the 
 swamp to-night, and I am very anxious that we should 
 be in time to strike him efficiently." 
 ^ " We shall, sir," replied the other, calmly ; " we 
 shall have sufficient time, for I know Travis of old. 
 He is a good hound for scent, but a poor one for chase. 
 He goes slow to be certain, and is always certain to ^ 
 
THE PARTISAN. 73 
 
 be slow. It's nature with him now, though quick 
 enough, they say, some twenty years ago, when he 
 went out after the Cherokees. Besides, he has a long 
 sweep to make before he gets fairly into the swamps, 
 and the freshet we have had lately will throw him out 
 often enough, and make his way longer. We shall be 
 in time." 
 
 " I am glad you are so sure of your man, Humphries. 
 I would not like to lose a good chance at the party. A 
 successful blow struck in this quarter, and just at this 
 moment, would have a fine effect. Why, man, it would 
 bring out those fellows handsomely, whose ears are 
 now full of this protection business, which troubles 
 them so much. If they must fight, they will see the 
 wisdom of taking part with the side which does not 
 call upon them to strike friends or brethren. They 
 must join with us to a man, or go to the West Indies, 
 and that, no doubt, some of the dastards will not fail 
 to do in preference. God help me, but I can scarce 
 keep from cursing them, as I think on their degrada- 
 tion." 
 
 " Bad enough, major, bad enough when it's the poor 
 man, without house and home, and nothing to live for 
 and nothing to lose, who takes up with the enemy and 
 lights his battles ; but it's much worse when the rich 
 men and the gentlemen, who ought to know better, and 
 to set a good example, it's much worse when they're 
 the first to do so. Now I know and I feel, though I 
 expect you won't be so willing to believe it, that, after 
 all, it's the poor man who is the best friend of his coun- , 
 try in the time of danger. He doesn't reckon how 
 much he's to lose, or what risk he's to run, when there's 
 "a sudden difficulty to get through with. He doesn't 
 think till it's all over, and then he may ask how much 
 he gains by it, without getting a civil answer." 
 
 " There's truth in what you say, Humphries, and we 
 do the poor but slack justice in our estimation of them. 
 AVe see only their poverty, and not their feelings and 
 affections ; we have, therefore, but little sympathy, 
 
 Vol. I.— G 
 
74 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 and perhaps nothing more than life and like wants in 
 common with them." 
 
 " That's a God's truth here, major, where the poor 
 man does the fighting and the labour, and the rich 
 man takes protection to save his house from the fire. 
 Now, its just so with this poor man Frampton. He 
 was one of Buford's men, and when Tarleton came 
 upon them, cutting them up root and branch, he took 
 to the swamp, and wouldn't come in, all his neighbours 
 could do, because the man had a good principle for 
 his country. Well, you see what he's lost ; — you 
 can't know his sufferings till you see him, major, 
 and I won't try to teach you ; but if there's a man can 
 look on him, and see his misery, and know what did 
 it, without taking up sword and rifle, I don't want to 
 know that man. I know one that's of a different way 
 of thinking, and willing to do both." 
 
 " And I another !" exclaimed Davis, who had been 
 silent in their ride hitherto. 
 
 " Is Frampton here in the swamp — and shall we see 
 him to-night 1" asked Singleton, curious to behold a 
 man who, coming from the poorest class of farmers 
 in the neighbourhood, had maintained such a tenacious 
 spirit of resistance to invasion, when the more leading 
 people around him, and indeed the greater majority, 
 had subscribed to terms of indulgence, which, if less 
 honourable, were here far more safe. The sufferings 
 of the man himself, the cruel treatment his wife had 
 imdergone, and her subsequent death, also contributed 
 largely to that interest which, upon hearing his simple 
 but pathetic story, the speaker had immediately felt to 
 know him. 
 
 " We shall see him in an hour, major, and a melan- 
 choly sight it is ; you'll be surprised, and if you aint very 
 strong of heart, it will go nigh to sicken you. But it 
 does good to see it for one's self; it makes one strong 
 against tyranny." 
 
 "It grows very dark here." 
 
 " That's water before you, and a good big pond 100,** 
 said Davis. 
 
THE PARTISAN. 75 
 
 "This is the track, major ;" and Humphries led the 
 way to the left, inclining more in the direction of the 
 river. A sullen, child-like cry, succeeded by a sudden 
 plunge into the water, indicated the vicinity of an 
 alligator, which they had disturbed in his own home ; 
 the rich globules of light, showering over the Avater 
 around him, giving a singular beauty to the scene, in 
 every other respect so dark and gloomy. They kept 
 continually turning in a zigzag fashion almost at every 
 step, to avoid the waving vine, the close thicket, or the 
 half-stagnant creek, crowded with the decayed frag- 
 ments of an older and an overthrown forest. 
 
 A shrill whistle at this moment, thrice repeated, sa- 
 luted their ears. It was caught up in the distance by 
 another, and another, in a voice so like, that they might 
 almost have passed for so many echoes of the same. 
 
 " Our sentries watch closely, major ; we must an- 
 swer them, or we may sup on cold lead," said Hum- 
 phries. As he spoke, he responded to the signal, 
 and his answer was immediately followed by the ap- 
 pearance of a figure emerging from behind a tree that 
 bulged out a little to the left of the tussock upon which 
 they were now standing. The dim outline only, and 
 no feature of the new-comer, was distinguishable by 
 the group. 
 
 " Ha ! Warner, you watch ? — all's well ; and now 
 lead the way. Are all the boys in camp?" 
 
 " All!" was the reply ; " and a few more come in from 
 Buford's corps who know Frampton." 
 
 " And how is he 1 — does he know them V 
 
 " He's in a bad fix, and knows nothing. You can 
 hardly get a word oul of him since his wife's come." 
 
 " His wife ! Why, man, Avhat do you think of ? — his 
 wife's dead !" exclaimed Humphries with surprise. 
 
 " Yes — we know that ; but he brought her, all the 
 same as if she was alive, on his shoulders, and he 
 won't give her up. There he sits, close alongside of 
 her, watching her all the time, and brushing the flies 
 from her face. He don't seem to mind that she's 
 dead." 
 
•ye THE PARTISAN. 
 
 " Great God !" exclaimed Singleton, " the unhappy 
 man is mad. Let us push on, and see what can be 
 done." 
 
 Without a word farther, following their new guide, 
 Warner, they advanced upon their way, until the blaze 
 of a huge lire, bursting as it were out of the very 
 bosom of the darkness, rose wavingly before them. 
 The camp of the outlawed whigs, or rebels, as they 
 were styled by the enemy, lonely and unattractive, on 
 a little island of the swamp, in a i'ew moments after 
 rose fully in their sight; and plunging into the creek 
 that surrounded it, though swimming at that moment, 
 a bound or two carried them safely over, and they stood 
 ill the presence of their comrades. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Do I not live for it ? I have no life, 
 But in the hope that life may bring with it 
 The bitter-sweet of vengeance." 
 
 The gloomy painter would have done much with the 
 scene before them. The wild and mystic imagination 
 would have made it one of supernatural terrors ; and 
 fancy, fond of the melancholy twilight, would have 
 endowed the dim shadows, lurking like so many spectres 
 between the bald cypresses, with a ghostly character, 
 and most unhallowed purpose. Though familiar with 
 such abodes. Singleton, as he looked upon the strange 
 groupings thrown along the sombre groundwork, was 
 impressed with a lively sense of its imposing felicity. 
 They stood upon an island in the very centre of the 
 swamp — one of those little islands, the tribute ooze of 
 numerous minor water-courses, hardening into solidity 
 at last. These, beating their feeble tides upon a single 
 point, in process of time create the barrier which is to 
 usurp their own possessions. Here, the rank matter of 
 
THE PARTISAN. 77 
 
 the swamp, its slime and rubbish, resolving themselves 
 by a natural but rapid decomposition into one mass, yield 
 the thick luxuriance of soil from which springs up the 
 overgrown tree, which heaves out a thousand branches, 
 and seems to liave existed as many years — in whose 
 bulk we behold an emblem of majesty, and, in whose 
 term of life, standing in utter defiance of the sweeping 
 hurricane, we have an image of strength which com- 
 pels our admiration, and sometimes the more elevated 
 acknowledgment of our awe. Thus, gathering on this 
 insulated bed, a hundred solemn cypresses mingled 
 their gaunt, spectral forms with the verdant freshness 
 of the water-oak — the rough simplicity and height of 
 the pine — all intertwined and bound together in the com- 
 mon guardianship of the spot, by the bulging body of 
 the luxuriant grape-vine, almost rivalling in thickness, 
 and far surpassing in strength, the trees from which it 
 depended — these formed a natural roof to the island, 
 circumscribing its limits even more effectually than did 
 the narrow creek by which it had been isolated, and 
 through which the tribute waters of this wide estuary 
 found their way, after a few miles of contracted jour- 
 neying, into the bed and bosom of the Ashley. 
 
 A couple of huge fires, which they had seen in 
 glimpses while approaching, were in full blaze upon 
 the island ; one, the largest, near its centre ; the other 
 somewhat apart, upon a little isthmus which it thrust 
 forth into the mouth of the creek. Around the former 
 lay a singular assemblage of persons, single, or in 
 groups, and in every position. There were not more 
 than twenty in all, but so disposed as to seem much 
 more numerous to the casual spectator. Three, in the 
 glare of the fire, sat upon a log at cards, one at either 
 end, and the third, squat upon the ground beside it. A 
 few slept ; some were engaged in conversation, while 
 one, more musical than his neighbours, broke iuuO a song 
 of some length, in which the current situation of tht; things 
 aroimd him underwent improvisation. A stout negro 
 prepared the evening meal, and passed between the 
 card-players and the fire to their occasional inconve- 
 G 2 
 
78 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 nience ; their sharp but unheeded denunciations being 
 freely bestowed at every repetition of the offence. 
 The dress and accoutrements of this collection were 
 not less novel, and certainly far more outre, than their 
 several positions and employments. Certainly, taste 
 had but little share in their toilet arrangements, since 
 the hair of some of them flew dishevelled in the 
 wind, or lay matted upon their brows, unconscious of 
 a comb. The faces generally of the party were 
 smeared, and some of them absolutely blackened, by 
 the smoke of the pine-wood fires which at night were 
 kept continually burning around them. This had most" 
 effectually begrimed their features, and their dresses 
 had not scrupled to partake of the same colouring. 
 These, too, were as various as the persons who wore 
 them. The ragged coat, the round-jacket, and some- 
 times the entire absence of both, in the case of some 
 individual otherwise conspicuous enough, destroyed 
 all chance of uniformity in the troop. There was but 
 one particular in which their garb seemed generally 
 to agree, and that was in the coonskin cap which sur- 
 mounted the heads of most of them — worn jantily 
 upon the side of the head, with slips that flapped over 
 the ears, and the tail of the animal depending from 
 front or rear, tassel-fashion, according to the taste of 
 the wearer. Considering such an assemblage, so dis- 
 posed, so habited, in connection with the situation and 
 circumstances in which we find them, and we shall 
 form no very imperfect idea of the moral effect which 
 their appearance must have had upon the new comers. 
 The boisterous laugh, the angry, sharp retort, the 
 ready song from some sturdy bacchanal, and the silent 
 sleeper undisturbed amid all the uproar, made, of them- 
 selves, a picture to the mind not likely to be soon for- 
 gotten. Then, when we behold the flaming of the 
 torch in the deep dark which it only for a moment 
 dissipates, and which crowds back, as with a solid body, 
 into the spot from which it has been temporarily 
 driven— 'the light flashing along and reflected back 
 from the sullen waters of the creek, — listening, at the 
 
THE PARTISAN. 79 
 
 same moment, to the cry of the screech-owl as the 
 intruder scares him from his perch — the plaint of the 
 whippoorwill, in return, as if even the clamour of the 
 obscene bird had in it something of sympathy for the 
 wounded spirit, — these, with the croaking of the frogs 
 in millions, with which the swamp was a dwelling- 
 place among a thousand, were all well calculated to 
 awaken the most indifferent regards, and to compel a 
 sense of the solemn-picturesque even in the mind of 
 the habitually frivolous and unthinking. 
 
 With the repeated signals which they had heard 
 from their sentries on the appearance of the new 
 comers, the scattered groups had simultaneously started 
 to their feet, and put themselves in a state of readiness. 
 The signals were familiar, however, and spoke of 
 friends in the approaching persons ; so that, after a 
 few moments of buzz and activity, they generally sank 
 back sluggishly to their old occupations, — the card- 
 players to finish their game, and the less speculative, 
 their sleep. Their movement, however, gives us a 
 better opportunity to survey' their accoutrements. The 
 long cumbrous rifle seemed the favourite weapon, and 
 in the hands of the diminutive, sallow, but black-eyed 
 and venturous dweller in the swamps of the lowlands, 
 across whose knee we may here and there see it 
 resting, it may confidently be held as fatal at a hun- 
 dred yards. A few of them had pistols — the common 
 horse-pistol — a weapon of little real utility under any 
 circumstances. But a solitary musket, and that too 
 without the bayonet, was to be seen in the whole col- 
 lection ; and though not one of the party present but 
 had his horse hidden in the swamp around him, yet 
 not one in five of the riders possessed the sabre, that 
 only effective weapon of cavalry. These were yet to 
 be provided, and at the expense of the enemy. 
 
 The immediate appearance of Major Singleton, as 
 he followed Humphries up the bank, once more called 
 them to their feet. He had been expected, yet few of 
 them personally knew him. They knew, however, 
 that he was high in favour with Governor Rutledge, 
 
80 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 and bore his commission. Of this they had been ap- 
 prized by Humphries, who had been the recruiting 
 officer of the troop. They now crowded around him 
 "with a show of curious examination, which was nar- 
 row and close without being obtrusive. With that 
 manly, yet complaisant habit which distinguished him, 
 he soon made himself known to them, and his opening 
 speech won not a little upon their hearts. He unfolded 
 his commission, delivered an address from the exec- 
 utive, in which a direct and warm appeal was made 
 to their patriotism, and concluded with some remarks 
 of his own to the same effect, which were all enthu- 
 siastically received. His frank, fearless manner, fine 
 eye, and manly, though smooth and youthful face, took 
 admirably with them, and at once spoke favourably to 
 their minds in support of his pretensions to govern 
 them. This command they at once tendered him ; 
 and though without the material for a force called for 
 by the commission which he bore, yet, in those times, 
 it was enough that they loved their leader and were 
 not unwilling to fight with an enemy. Major Sin- 
 gleton was content to serve his country in an humbler 
 command than that which his commission entitled him 
 to hold. Acting, therefore, as their captain for the 
 present, he made Humphries his lieutenant. Him 
 they had long known, and he was a favourite among 
 them. He, indeed, had been chiefly instrumental in 
 bringing together their scattered elements, and in thus 
 forming the nucleus of a corps, which, in the subse- 
 quent warfare, contributed in no slight degree to the 
 release of the country from foreign thraldom. In 
 Humphries they had a good officer and every con- 
 fidence, though it was obvious enough, that while full 
 of courage, calm, collected, and not easily moved, he 
 yet lacked many of those essentials of superior edu- 
 cation and bearing, without which militia-men are not 
 often to be held in order. He was not sufficiently 
 their superior to stand apart and to command them ; 
 and the inferior mind will never look to its equal in 
 the moment of emergency. Though ready and acute 
 
THE PARTISAN. 81 
 
 enough in the smaller details of military adventure — 
 the arrangement of the ambuscade, the rapid blow al 
 the rear, or the plan for striking at ihe foragers of an 
 enemy — he was yet rather apt to go forward with than 
 to command his party. He trusted rather to his pres- 
 ence than to the superior force of his character, to 
 urge upon them the performance of their duties ; and, 
 conscious of this, though ready at all times to lead, he 
 yet shrank from the necessity of commanding. This 
 capacity can only result successfully from an habitual 
 exercise of authority. It was with no small satisfac- 
 tion, therefore, that he placed his recruits imder the 
 control of Major Singleton, although, it may be said, 
 that such a transfer of his command was rather nom- 
 inal than real ; Humphries still counselling in great 
 part the particular business of adventure which Sin- 
 gleton was the better able to command. The latter 
 had yet to acquire a knowledge of localities which 
 could only be obtained by actual experiment. 
 
 " And now, major, soldiers without arms are not 
 apt to fight well. Come, sir, with me, and see our 
 armory. It's a queer one, to be sure, to those used 
 to a better ; but it must serve where there's no choice. 
 This way, sir — to the left. Here, Tom, bring a 
 chunk." 
 
 The black led the way with a blazing brand, imtil 
 their farther progress was arrested by the waters of 
 the creek. In the centre of the stream grew a 
 cypress of immense size, much larger than any of its 
 surrounding companions. Motioning Singleton to wait, 
 Humphries waded into the water almost up to his mid- 
 dle, until he reached the tree, into which, taking the 
 blazing brand from the black, he entered, returning in 
 a few moments with half a dozen fine sabres, which, 
 one after the other, he threw from him to the bank. 
 
 " This is all our stock in trade, major ; and you 
 have your choice of them till we can get a better. 
 This, if I know the signs of the weather, we shall 
 do before long. Meanwhile, as the stufTs good, they 
 wiU answer oin- present purpose." 
 
82 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 Singleton pressed the points of the weapons severally 
 to the earth, testing the elasticity of the steel, then 
 accommodating the hilt to his grip, declared himself 
 suited. Humphries made a selection after him, and 
 the remaining four were subsequently distributed 
 among chosen men, to whom commands in the little 
 corps were assigned. As rebels, heretofore, the short- 
 shrift and sure cord must have been their doom if 
 taken. The commission of the state, and a due re- 
 gister of their names in the books of the orderly, now 
 secured them in the immunities of regular warfare, 
 and made that comparatively innocent which before 
 was obnoxious to death and degradation. 
 
 We have spoken of two several fires as conspicuous 
 upon the island at the approach of Singleton, the one 
 upon the centre, the other, and smaller one, at its re- 
 motest extremity. Of the use made of the former, 
 we have already seen something ; the other, while it 
 had caught the eye of Major Singleton, had been too 
 remote to enable him to distinguish the employment 
 or character of the various persons who yet closely 
 encircled it. He could see that there were several 
 figures sitting around the brands, which seemed to have 
 been but loosely thrown together, as they had now 
 fallen apart, and only gave forth a flickering blaze at 
 intervals, denying that constant light, without which 
 he could not hope to gain any knowledge of the per- 
 sons, even at a far less distance. These persons had 
 not moved at his approach, and had remained stationary 
 all the while he was employed in making himself 
 known to those who were to be his comrades. This ' 
 alone would have been enough to attract his 
 attention ; and, in addition, he saw that those around 
 him, when bending their glances off in the direction of 
 his own, shook their heads with an air of solemnity, 
 and, though saying nothing, were yet evidently influ- 
 enced by a knowledge of some circumstances connected 
 with the mysterious group, of a painful character. 
 Observing the inquiring look of JVIajor Singleton, Hum- 
 phries approached, and whispered him that the party 
 
THE PARTISAN. 83 
 
 at the opposite fire consisted of Frampton, his two 
 sons, and the dead body of his wife, and proposed 
 that they should go to him. The major at once con- 
 sented. 
 
 " You'll see a sad sight, Major Singleton — a sad 
 sight ! — for the man is crazy, let them say what they 
 may. He don't know half the time what he says or 
 does, and he scarcely feels any thing." 
 
 They moved over in the prescribed direction, and ap- 
 proached without disturbing the chief personage of the 
 group. The elder son, a youth of twenty, looked up 
 at their coming, but said nothing. It was evident that 
 he, and he alone, had been weeping. The other 
 son, a tall fine-looking lad of sixteen, seemed in- 
 spired with harsher feelings as his eye gazed from 
 the face of the father to that of the mother, whose 
 dead body lay between the two, her head on the lap 
 of the elder son, over whose arms her hair streamed 
 loosely — long, and delicately brown and glossy. She 
 had evidently been a woman of some attractions. Her 
 person was well formed and justly proportioned, nei- 
 ther masculine nor small. Her features were soft and 
 regidar. The face was smooth, but had been bruised, 
 seemingly as if she had fallen upon it ; and there were 
 blotches upon the cheek and forehead, which may 
 have been the consequence of blows, or might be the 
 natural evidence of that decay which was now strongly 
 perceptible. The face of the chief mourner, who sat 
 silent at her feet, looking forward into her face, was 
 a fine one, as well in its mould as in its expression. It 
 was that of a splendid savage. There was enough of 
 solemn ferocity in it for the murderer, enough of re- 
 deeming sensibility to soften, if not to subdue, the 
 other more leading attributes of its character. His 
 skin was dark like that of the people generally of that 
 neighbourhood. His eyes were black and piercing ; 
 and a burning spot on each cheek, seemed to have 
 borrowed from the red glare of the fire at his side a 
 corresponding intensity of hue. His lips were parted ; 
 and the lower jav/ seemed to have been thrown and 
 
84 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 kept down spasmodically. Through the aperture 
 glared the tips of the small and white teeth, sometimes 
 closed together by a sudden convulsive jerk, but im- 
 mediately relaxing again and resuming their divided 
 position. 
 
 He took no sort of notice of the new-comers, until, 
 throwing himself alongside of the younger boy, Hum- 
 phries took the hand of the mother into his own, and 
 gazed over upon her face. Frampton then gave him a 
 look — a single look ; and as their eyes met, those of 
 Humphries intuitively filled with water. The be- 
 reaved wretch, as he saw this, laughed sneeringly and 
 shook his head. There was no misunderstanding the 
 rebuke. It clearly scorned the sympathy, and called 
 for the sterner tribute of revenge. The elder son 
 then carried on a brief conversation in an under tone 
 with the lieutenant, which was only audible in part to 
 Singleton, who sat on the root of a tree opposite. 
 He gave the particulars of his mother's removal in 
 this dialogue, and of the resolute doggedness with 
 which his father had hitherto resisted the burial of the 
 body. 
 
 " It must be buried at once," said Humphries more 
 earnestly to the youth. The father heard him, and 
 glaring upon him with the eyes of a tiger, the desolate 
 man bent forward and placed his hand resolutely over 
 the bod)', as if determined not to suffer its removal. 
 
 " Nay, but it must, Frampton ; — there's no use in 
 keeping it here : and, indeed, there's no keeping it 
 much longer. Hear to reason, man, and be persuaded." 
 
 The person addressed shook his head, and main- 
 tained his hold upon it for a moment in silence ; but 
 all on a sudden, half rising to his feet, he shook his 
 fists fiercely at the speaker, while his expression was 
 so full of ferocity, that Humphries prepared for, and 
 every moment expected, attack. 
 
 " You have lied to me, Humphries !" he exclaimed 
 with difficulty, as if through his clenched teeth. — 
 "You have lied to me; — you said he should be 
 here, — where is he ? why have you not brought him I" 
 
THE PARTISAN. 85 
 
 " Who ? brought who ?" demanded the other earn- 
 estly. 
 
 " Who !" — and as the maniac half shrieked out the 
 word in sneering repetition, he pointed to the body, 
 while he cried, with a fierce laugh, between each pause 
 in his words — "who! — did he not strike her — strike 
 her to the ground — trample upon her body — great 
 God ! — -upon her — my wife ?" And, as the accumu- 
 lated picture of his wife's injuries rose up before his 
 mind while he spoke, his speech left him, and he 
 choked, till his face grew livid in their sight, and yet 
 he had no tears. He soon recovered enough to speak 
 again with something like a show of calmness. 
 
 " You said you were my friend — that you would 
 bring him to me — that I should kill him here — here, 
 even while mine eyes yet looked upon her. Liar ! 
 where is he ? Why have you not brought him ?" 
 
 " I am no liar, Frampton, and you know it. I never 
 promised to bring the dragoons to you ; but I am wil- 
 ling to lead you to them." 
 
 " Do 1 want a leader for that? — you shall see :" and 
 he relapsed after this reply into the same solemn stu- 
 por which had marked his looks at the first coming 
 of the two. Humphries proceeded with temper and 
 coolness — 
 
 " It is time, Frampton, to be a man — to bear up against 
 your losses, and think how to have revenge for them." 
 
 " I am ready. Speak not to me of revenge — speak 
 not ; I am thirsting — thirsting for blood !" was the reply. 
 
 " Yet, here you sit moping over your losses, 
 while the red-coats are in the swamp — ay, hunting us 
 out in our own grounds — Huck's dragoons, with Travis 
 at their head." 
 
 The man was on his feet in an instant. There was 
 a wild glow now visible in his face, which completely 
 superseded the sombre fixedness of its previous expres- 
 sion. All now was summary impatience. 
 
 " Come !" said he, waving his hand impatiently, and 
 convulsively grasping his bosom with his fingers — 
 •' come !" 
 
 Vol. I.— H 
 
86 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 " It is well. I now see you are in the right mood 
 for vengeance, and I have made all arrangements for 
 it. Here is a sword ; and this, Frampton, is om- com- 
 mander. Major Singleton. He is now our leader, and 
 will put us in the dragoons' tracks in short order." 
 
 'I'he maniac turned stupidly to Smgleton, and bend- 
 ing his head with a strange simper on his lips, simply 
 repeated the word " Come !" with which he showed his 
 willingness for the adventure. Humphries whispered 
 Major Singleton to take him at his word, and move him 
 off to the rest of the party, while he gave directions 
 for the interment of the body. Singleton did so, and 
 without any show of reluctance, Frampton followed 
 him. Once did he stop suddenly, turn quickly round, 
 and seem about to retrace his steps ; but seeing it, 
 Singleton simply observed, as if to himself — 
 
 " We shall soon be upon the dragoons, and then — " 
 
 The object was gained, and the distracted, desolate 
 creature followed, like a tame dog, the lead of his com- 
 mander. He listened in gloomy silence to the ar- 
 rangements, as they were agreed upon, for the encounter 
 with Travis. He knew enough of that sort of fighting 
 to see that they were judiciously made ; and, satisfied 
 with the promise which they conveyed to his mind of 
 the revenge which he desired, he offered no suggestion, 
 nor interfered in the slightest degree with any of their 
 plans. Still, not a word which had been uttered 
 among them escaped his appreciation. He was now 
 fully awakened to a single object, and the reasoning 
 faculties grew tributary to the desire of his mood when 
 that became concentrated. He saw that the proposed 
 plans were the best that could be devised for the en- 
 counter, and he looked to that now for the satisfaction 
 of his thirst. 
 
 Humphries having given his directions duly for the 
 interment of the body, now returned to join in the de- 
 liberations with the rest. His opinion was adopted by 
 Major Singleton, who, giving orders that all things 
 should be in readiness, himself saw to the execution 
 of certain minor resolves, and then dispersing his 
 
THE PARTISAN. 87 
 
 sentries, proceeded to enjoy the three hours of slumber 
 which had been allotted before the necessary start to 
 intercept Travis. 
 
 It was an hour after midnight when the guards 
 aroused them with the preparations for their movement. 
 The night was still, clear, and calm. The winds were 
 sleeping, or only strove with a di'owsy movement along 
 the tops of the trees, the highest above the swamp. 
 Sweetly the murmurs of the creek around them, swol- 
 len by the influx of the tide from the sea, which is 
 there strongly perceptible, brolie upon the ear, as 
 the waters, in feeble ripples, strove against the little 
 island, and brought with them a sense of freshness 
 from the sea, which none feels more pleasantly than he 
 who has been long wandering in the southern forests. 
 Not a lip had yet spoken among the troops, and save the 
 slight cry of the capricious insect, and the sound pro- 
 duced by their own early movement in bustling into 
 action, there was nothing in that deep stillness and 
 depth of shadow calculated in the slightest degree to 
 impair the feelings of solemnity which, in his own 
 abode. Silence, the most impressive of all the forest 
 divinities, exacts from his subjects. With a ready 
 alacrity, obeying the command of their leader, the 
 troopers were soon in saddle, forming a compact body 
 of twenty men, Frampton and his two sons included; 
 the very boys being thus early taught in the duties of 
 the partisan. Following in such order as the inequal- 
 ities of the swamp would permit, they were soon ad- 
 vanced upon their route through bog and through brier, 
 slough, forest, and running water — a route, rugged and 
 circuitous, and not always without its peril. In three 
 hours, and ere the daylight yet dappled the dun east, 
 they skirted the narrow ridge where the arrangement 
 of Singleton placed them, and over which the scouting 
 party of Travis was expected to pass. There, with 
 hostile anxiety, and well prepared, they confidently 
 awaited the arrival of the enemy. 
 
88 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " There shall be joy for this. Shall we not laugh- 
 Laugh merrily for conquest, when it lakes 
 The wolldog from our throats, and yields us his?" 
 
 Travis, the faithful coadjutor of the tory Huck, 
 was on his march into the swamp before dayhght. As 
 Humphries had anticipated, he took the path, if so it 
 might be called, on which the ambuscade had been 
 laid for him. He might not have done so, had he 
 dreamed for an instant of the existence in this quarter 
 of such a body of men as that now preparing to receive 
 him. Looking on his object, however, simply as the 
 arrest of Frampton, and the scouring of the swamp of 
 such stragglers besides as might have been led for 
 shelter into its recesses, he adopted the route which 
 was obviously most accessible, and most likely, there- 
 fore, to be resorted to by the merely skulking discon- 
 tent. The half-military eye, looking out for an enemy 
 in any respect equal, would have either studiously 
 avoided the ridge over which Travis now presumed to 
 ride, or would have adopted some better precautions 
 than he had troubled himself to take. It was naturally 
 a strong defile, well calculated for an easy defence, as 
 only a small force could possibly be of use upon it. 
 But two persons could ride abreast in the prescribed 
 direction, and then only with great difficulty and by 
 slow movement ; for little gullies and fissures continu- 
 ally intersected the path, which was circuitous and 
 winding, and, if not always covered with water and 
 swamp, quite as difficult to overcome, from its luxuriant 
 growth of umbrage. Though an old traveller in such 
 fastnesses, these obstructions were in no sort pleasant 
 to the leader of the party, who, being a notorious 
 grumbler, accompanied every step which he took with 
 
THE PARTISAN. 89 
 
 a grunting sort of commentary, by way of disapproba- 
 tion. 
 
 " Now, may the devil take these gullies, that go as 
 deep when you get into them as if they were made for 
 him. This is a day's chase, and the next time Huck 
 wants a hunt, he shall seek it himself. I like not this 
 service. It's little less than a disparagement of the 
 profession, and speaks not well for an old soldier." 
 
 The leader spoke with feeling, and no little emphasis, 
 as his steed scrambled up the uank from the slough in 
 which his legs had been almost fastened, the slimy 
 ooze of which, left by the now-receding tide, rendering 
 the effort to release himself a matter of greater difficulty 
 than usual. The grumbling continued, even after he 
 had gained the tussock. 
 
 " Thou a soldier !" cried one who rode up behind 
 him, and who spoke in terms of familiarity indicating 
 close companionship — " thou a soldier, Hunks, indeed ! 
 What should make thee a soldier ?" 
 
 " Am I not, Clough "?" was the reply. 
 
 " And wherefore dost thou grumble, then 1" 
 
 "Wherefore'? Because, being a soldier, I am sent 
 upon any but a soldier's service. A dng might do this 
 duty — a dog that you had well beaten." 
 
 " And what better service, Hunks, couldst thou have 
 to keep thee from grumbling? Art thou, now, not a 
 sorry bear with a sore head, that kindness cannot coax, 
 and crossing only can keep civil ! Send thee on what 
 service Huck may, it is all the same ; thou wilt grumble 
 at the toil, even when it likes thee best. What wouldst 
 thou have — what would please thee ?" 
 
 " By Saint Jupiter, but he might ask, at least ! He 
 might give a man a choice," responded the other, 
 gruffly. " It's but a small favour I ask, to be suffered 
 to choose for myself whether I shall work for my mas- 
 ter on hill or in hole — with a free bit, or hand to hand, 
 close struggle with a hungry alligator in his wallow." 
 
 " And thou wouldst choose the very service he now 
 puts thee to. What ! do we not all know thee — and 
 who knows thee better than Huck ? He sees thou art 
 H3 
 
90 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 the best man for the swamp ; that thy scent is keen 
 with the bloodhound, thine e3'e like the hawk's, and 
 thou art quick for fight as the colonel's bullpup. It is 
 because he knows thou art fond of this sort of venture 
 that he puts thee upon it ; and what thou grumblest at, 
 therefore, it will be out of thine own wisdom to show, 
 even if thou didst wish it, in truth, which I believe 
 not." 
 
 " It's a dog's life only, this scenting swamps for the 
 carrion they had better keep — wearing out good legs 
 and horses, and making soldiers do the duty of a hungry 
 dog. Rot it, but I'll resist after this ! Let them send 
 others that are younger, and like it better. I'll give ii 
 up — I'll do no more of it." 
 
 " Say so to Huck, and lose command of the scouts — ■ 
 the best game thou hast ever played at, if the baggage- 
 wagons speak true," was the reply. " What ! shalt thou 
 grumble to do what thou art best fitted for? What 
 wouldst thou be after — what other service would please 
 thee ?" 
 
 " Thou mayst see me in a charge yet, Sergeant 
 Clough," replied Travis, boastfully, " provided thou 
 hast blood enough to stop imtil it's over. When thou 
 hast seen this, thou wilt ask me no child's questions. 
 What ! because I am good at the swamp, am I there- 
 fore worth nothing on the highway ? It were a sorry 
 soldier that could not take clear track and bush and bog 
 alike, when the case calls for it, and do good service 
 in all. But thou shalt see, some day, and grow 
 wiser." 
 
 " Well, thou dost promise largely, like an old debtor ; 
 but, to my mind, thou art just now where thou shouldst 
 be — in the swamps ; for, truth to speak, thou lovest 
 them — thou lovest the wallow and the slough — the 
 thick ooze which the alligator loves, and the dry fern- 
 bank where he makes his nest ; thou lovest the terapin 
 because of his home, not less than of the good soup 
 which he gives us ; and the ugly moccasin, and the toad, 
 and the frog — the brown lizard and the green — the 
 swamp-spider, with its ropy house and bagging black 
 
THE PARTISAN. 91 
 
 body — all these are favourites with thee, because thy 
 spirit craves for thee a home like that which they 
 abide in." 
 
 " It is a goodly place, with all that company thou 
 speakest of: the air is pleasant to the sense, and the 
 noises — there is no music like the concert the frogs 
 make for thee at sunset." 
 
 " Said I not ? Why, man, thou quarrellestwith kind- 
 ness when thou ravest at Huck for sending thee to the 
 swamp. Thou wert feverish and impatient this morn- 
 ing until thou wert fairly in it, with its mud and water 
 plashing around thee ; and now thou art here, with the 
 trees crowding upon us so thickly that the sun looks 
 not under them once in the whole year, thou creepest 
 like a terapin upon thy journey, as if thou didst greatly 
 fear thou wouldst too quickly get through it ; a barren 
 fear, this, for we see but the begimiing : the bog deep- 
 ens, and the day grows darker as we go. Tiiou art 
 slow, Travis." 
 
 " Saint Jupiter, Master Clough, wouldst thou lead ? 
 Thou art a better swamp-sucker than Ned Travis, and 
 he born, as I may say, in a bush and cradled in a bog, 
 and his first breeches, like n1<?ther Eve's petticoat, 
 made out of bulrushes ! Go to, friend, and be modest !" 
 
 " Ay, when thou art wise, and can go without coun- 
 sel. Once more, Travis, but I do think thy snail's pace 
 were better mended." 
 
 "Teach Goose Creek, would you? Talk not so 
 loudly. Sergeant Clough, of running through the Cy- 
 press, or the gray-squirrel will look down and laugh. 
 He's up betimes this morning, and knows more of a 
 long leap through a broad swamp like this of the Ashley 
 than comes to thy wisdom. Speak before him with 
 becoming reverence, for he watches thee from the pine- 
 top above thee." 
 
 The sergeant, who was an Englishman, looked 
 upward with due simplicity, and received in his face 
 the dismembered and decayed branch which the playful 
 animal threw down, as he leaped away from the tree 
 they were passing. 
 
92 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 •' Now, d — n the rebel ! That were a hanging matter 
 for one of Washington's cavalry." 
 
 " Ay, could you catch him !" replied Travis, with 3 
 laugh at the discomfiture of his companion, who busied 
 himself in freeing his face from the dust of the decayed 
 branch. 
 
 " See what thou gettest for thy stupidity. Think 
 you gray-jacket knew not all you were saying? He 
 did : not a word escaped him ; and, believe it or not, 
 his tribe have quite as much understanding as we, 
 though, to be sure, they have not the same tongue to 
 make it known. It's a God's truth, now, that squirrel 
 has been outstanding sentinel for his company, just as 
 ours watches for us ; and look where they go, all around 
 us, and all in the same direction ! See to yon pine, 
 how full of them ! It bends and shakes, big as it is, as 
 they leap off to the next tree. They are all off, just as 
 the sentinel gave them notice. Every now and then, 
 as we drew nigh, he piped up squeak after squeak, and 
 every one different, as much as to say, ' Now they 
 come — nigher, nigher, nigher !' — and when he thought 
 it time to move, he tumbled the dry branch into your 
 open mouth, and made off with his last signals." 
 
 " Pshaw ! what nonsense you talk !" 
 
 " Nonsense ! Saint Jupiter, but it's true as turpentine ! 
 There's no truth, if that be not. Why, man, I go far- 
 ther : I do believe, in my conscience, that they under- 
 stand arithmetic and navigation. Don't you think he 
 told his fellows how many we were, and what route 
 ' over the water we were going to take ? You see they 
 have taken a different direction altogether." 
 
 " You think I swallow your fool stories V said 
 Clough. 
 
 " Quite as easy to swallow, and better food than the 
 branch the squirrel threw thee : but if thou believe not, 
 I care not. Rot thee, for an infidel, having as little 
 belief as brains ! Thou art worse than Turk or He- 
 brew, and should have no water from me wert thou 
 famishing." 
 
 " Thou canst scarce deny it here," was the reply, as 
 
THE PARTISAN. 93 
 
 the squad, one after the other, struggled through a quag- 
 mire that spread across the path. 
 
 " Nor would I here ; I am charitable : take thy fill 
 of what is before thee. But hold up, men ; we are on 
 the broad track. This tussock runs for a hundred yards, 
 widening to a fork; and I've a mind that you shall" 
 go through the worst part of it, Sergeant Clough, that 
 you may get more wisdom in swamp-sucking. Close 
 up, men — up!" 
 
 They passed over the broad path in a few moments, 
 until they reached a point from which ran out another 
 route, clearly indicated upon the sky, by an opening 
 through the trees, which let in, for the first time after 
 their entrance, the unobstructed sunlight. 
 
 "To the right now, men — to the right! It's the 
 worst track, but carries us soonest to the heart of the 
 swamp, and we can pass it now without swimming: 
 the waters are going down, and it will not be so bad, 
 after all." 
 
 " Is it worse, Travis, than what we have passed?" 
 inquired Clough, rather anxiously. 
 
 " Worse !" exclaimed Travis, turning shortly upon 
 the speaker, with a sneer; "Saint Jupiter! said I not 
 you should learn swamp-sucking ? You'll drink before 
 you come out. But the water's fresh." 
 
 ■' Fresh, here in the swamp ?" 
 
 " Ay, fresh enough — fresh from the sea, unless the 
 tide's gone clean down. But on ; do not fear ; it looks 
 worse than it tastes. On, and follow me close !" 
 
 They dashed after their leader as he gave the word, 
 but their progress was much slower than before. 
 
 In the mean while, let us turn our eyes upon the 
 party in waiting for them. Following the suggestions 
 of his lieutenant, Humphries, Major Singleton had dis- 
 posed of his men at convenient distances for mutual 
 support along the more accessible ridge which the party 
 of Travis had originally pursued. The design had 
 been a good one ; for it was not to be supposed that 
 one who had shown himself so careful in selecting the 
 least obstructed route, would willingly leave it, in pref- 
 
94 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 erence to another, so indirect and difficult of passage 
 as that upon which Travis had now turned his horse. 
 The ambuscade had been well laid, and must have 
 been successful, but for this circumstance. Major 
 Singleton himself, being in advance, was the first to 
 perceive this change of movement, which, taking place 
 just when his anxieties were most aroused, was pro- 
 ductive of an exaggerated degree of disappointment. 
 He cried out to Humphries, who lurked in a low bush 
 on the opposite bank, and saw not so readily — 
 
 " They leave the track, Humphries ! they have turned 
 off to the right — we are foiled !" 
 
 The lieutenant rose from his recumbent position, 
 and saw the truth of his commander's suggestion. To 
 effect a change of ambuscade at this moment was hope- 
 less ; and there remained but one mode, and that was, 
 to persuade them to return to the path from which 
 they departed. At first, he thought to throw himself 
 immediately in their way ; and, being well known, and 
 looked upon as loyal by all the dragoons, he thought 
 he might lure them back by misrepresentations of one 
 kind or another. This thought he abandoned, however, 
 as he still desired to keep himself from detection, which 
 he could not hope, should any of them escape to tell 
 the story. 
 
 " There is but one way, major," he exclaimed, while 
 smearing his visage with the mud around him, and 
 leaping boldly forth on foot upon the broad path — 
 " there is but one way, sir : keep your men fast, Avhile 
 I make myself visible to Travis. I will run upon the 
 bank, and make them hear me. They will follow the 
 tussock, and, by the time I am in cover, you will have 
 them between you. The rest of the work is yours." 
 
 He waited not for an answer, but the next instant 
 was seen by Singleton coursing along the tussock 
 towards the route taken by Travis. When upon the 
 highest point, and perceptible to them, he broke a dried 
 stick, with a sharp, snapping sound, which reached the 
 quick ear of their leader. Travis turned instantly, and 
 ordered a halt. 
 
THE PARTISAN. 95 
 
 " Hold up, men — hold up a moment ! See you no- 
 thing to the left?" 
 
 All eyes were turned in the required direction, but 
 they failed to distinguish any object in particular, other 
 than belonged to the region. 
 
 " Look, Clough, your eyes are younger than mine — 
 look to the left, beyond the big water-oak, close by the 
 blasted pine — the very highest point of the tussock we 
 just left." 
 
 " I see, I see I" cried one of the troopers : " it's a 
 man." 
 
 " Now I have it ! You are right, Wilkins — it's a 
 man — a stout fellow, and must be Frampton," cried 
 Clough ; " the very dog we seek." 
 
 " No, 'tis not the man we seek," was the reply of 
 Travis, who had been watching intently. " This is a 
 short stout man, not of more inches than myself; Framp- 
 ton, though stout, is tall. But he is our game, be he 
 who he may. All are outlaws here, and rebels for 
 the rope. Here, Corporal Dricks, have your string in 
 readiness : we shall doubtless need a cast of your 
 office, and the noose should be free for service. Ride 
 close, and be ready. Ha ! he scents — he sees us ! 
 He is on the wing, and we must be quick and cautious. 
 After him, Clough, to the left — right, Wilkins I Get 
 upon the tussock, and, if he keeps it, you have him. 
 Ride, boys ! To the left, Clough — to the left ! He 
 can't clear the pond, and we are sure of him !" 
 
 Half of the troops dashed after the suspicious person, 
 who was our acquaintance Humphries ; the other half, 
 slowly returning, re-entered the old trail, and kept their 
 way towards the flying object and the pursuit. The 
 lieutenant found no difficulty in misleading his pursuers, 
 having once drawn them back to their original direction. 
 They urged the chase hotly upon him, but he knew 
 his course, and was cool and confident. Doubling 
 continually through bog and through brier — now behind 
 this, now under that clump of foliage or brush — he con- 
 trived to boggle them continually in perpetual intrica- 
 cies, each more difficult than the other, until he not 
 
96 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 only led them into the very thick of the ambuscading 
 party, still maintaining his original lead upon them, but 
 he scattered them so far asunder, that mutual assistance 
 became impossible. It was then that, gathering him- 
 self up for breath along the edge of a bank, he coolly 
 wiped the moisture from his brows, looking from side 
 to side, as he heard the splashing in the water or the 
 rustling in the brush of his bewildered pursuers. He, 
 meanwhile, fairly concealed from their sight by a thick 
 cluster of cypresses that rose out of the bay before him, 
 conceiving the time to have arrived for action, gave the 
 shrill whistle with which his men were familiar. The 
 pursuers heard it reverberate all around them from a 
 dozen echoes of the swamp ; they gave back, and 
 there was a pause in the chase, as if by common con- 
 sent. The sound had something supernatural and 
 chilling in it ; and the instinct of each, but a moment 
 before so hot upon the heels of the outlaw, was now to 
 regain his starting-place, and recover his security with 
 his breath. But retreat was not so easy, and prudence 
 counselled too late- They made the effort, however ; 
 but to succeed was denied them. The word of com- 
 mand reached their ears in another voice than that of 
 their own leader, and in the next instant came the sharp 
 cracking report of the rifle — two, three, four. Travis 
 went down in the first shot : they beheld his fall dis- 
 tinctly, as he stood upon the highest point of the ridge, 
 which was visible for a hundred yards round. For a 
 moment more, the enemy remained invisible ; bur Major 
 Singleton now gave his orders shrilly and coolly — 
 " Steady, men — in file, open order — trot !" And then 
 came the rush of the charge, and the stragglers beheld 
 the flashing sabres dealing with the few troopers who 
 held the broad ridge of the tussock. The tories fought 
 well ; but the surprise was too sudden, and too little 
 prepared for, and they fought at disadvantage. Still, 
 as they remembered the unsparing character of their 
 own warfare, and were conscious of innumerable out- 
 rages, such as had driven Frampton to outlawry, they 
 stood their ground bravely enough. Parrying the first 
 
THE PARTISAN. 97 
 
 Strokes of their assailants, who had every advantage, 
 they dashed aside from the path, and strove to escape 
 by plunging in every direction through the swamp. 
 But with the loss of the ridge, which Singleton with 
 his few troopers now traversed in all directions, they 
 lost all chance of extrication. They floundered from 
 slough to slough, while, dismounting and on foot, the 
 ■^ whigs pursued them. The cry for quarter on all hands 
 ended the combat, and the survivors were drawn forth 
 to become prisoners. They threw down their arms 
 generally, and were spared ; one who resisted was cut 
 down by Davis, who had shown himself a true man in 
 close contest ; and one strove to escape by turning back 
 upon his path, and plunging on through the swamp in 
 an opposite direction to that taken by the rest : but 
 there was an eye upon him, quickened by hate, and a 
 deadly hostility which nothing could blind — a footstep 
 which he could not evade. The fugitive was the san- 
 guinary corporal of Huck — a wretch who always car- 
 ried the cord at his saddle-bow for sudden executions, 
 and enjoyed nothing so well as its employment. His 
 pursuer was the maniac Frampton. That fierce man 
 had singled out this one antagonist, and throughout the 
 brief struggle, in which he bore an active part, had 
 never once withdrawn his glance from him. But for 
 this, the wretch might have escaped ; and even then, 
 had not guilt or fear paralyzed his energy or judgment, 
 his chances might have been good ; but he held too 
 long to his horse, and lost that time, in trying to urge 
 him along the track he had taken, which on foot might 
 have availed him more effectually. The animal became 
 entangled in some water-vines, and before he could get 
 him free, or even get from his back, the pursuer was 
 plunging into the swamp, with drawn sword waving 
 overhead, and but a few paces from him. Leaping 
 from his steed, which he left struggling, he made for 
 the opposite bank, and reached it before Frampton had 
 yet got through the slough. But even this advantage 
 did not serve him long. Though brave enough, the 
 corporal seemed at that moment to lack much of his 
 Vol. I.— I 
 
98 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 wonted firmness. Probably he knew the pursuer, had 
 heard his story, and dreaded his vengeance. It was 
 not improbable, indeed, that he himself had been one 
 of those concerned in the assault upon Frampton's wife. 
 If so, the flight of the one and the concentrated pursuit 
 of the other were both natural enough. Guilt must 
 always despair its charm in the presence of the true 
 avenger. Still, for a moment, there was a show of 
 spirit. He wheeled, and confronted the pursuer with a 
 word of defiance ; but the moment after, he turned again 
 in flight. He ran over the tussock upon which both 
 of them now stood, and, bounding through a pond that lay 
 m his way, made off for a close cover of cypresses that 
 grew at a little distance. Should he gain that cover, 
 his safety would most probably be certain, as he would 
 then have gained on Frampton, and had long since been 
 out of reach of the rest. But if the one ran with the 
 speed of fear, madness gave wings to the other. The 
 fugitive looked over his shoulder once as he flew, and 
 he could see in the eye of his pursuer that there 
 was no pity, but death ; and utterly vain must be 
 his cry for quarter. Perhaps he felt a conviction of 
 this from a due consciousness of what he had deserved 
 from his own atrocities. The thought increased his 
 speed ; but, though capable and elastic enough, he could 
 not escape the man who rushed behind him. Defying 
 wood, water, and every obstruction, the fierce wretch 
 pressed close upon the fugitive. The corporal felt the 
 splashing of the water from his adversary's feet ; he 
 knew that the next moment must be followed by the 
 whirl of the sabre, and he sank motionless to the ground. 
 The blow went clean over him ; but though it carried 
 Frampton beyond him, yet he did not fall. The maniac 
 soon recovered, and confronted the corporal, who now 
 found it impossible to fly : his hope was in fight only. 
 But what was his lifted weapon against that of his 
 opponent, wielded by his superior strength, made ter- 
 rible by madness ! The sword was dashed aside — 
 dashed down in the heavy sweeping stroke with which 
 the other prefaced the conflict. 
 
THE PARTISAN. 99 
 
 ^' Mercy ! mercy !" cried the corporal, as he saw that 
 it was all over. A howl like that of the wolf was the 
 only response, and the weapon bit through the bone as 
 the arm was miavailingly thrown up to resist it. The 
 stricken member hung only by the skin and a part of 
 the coat-sleeve. The steel was already in the air — 
 
 " Mercy, Frampton ! have mercy — " 
 
 The speech was silenced, as, crushing tlirough bone 
 and brain, the thick sword dug its way down into the 
 very eyes of the pleader. The avenger knelt upon the 
 senseless body, as it lay at his feet, and poured forth ' 
 above it a strain of impious thanksgiving to Heaven 
 for so much granted and gained of the desired ven- 
 geance. His wild, wolfish laugh, at intervals while he 
 prayed, taught the rest of the party where to look for 
 him. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "It is all dim — the way still stretches out 
 Far in the distance. We may nothing see, 
 Till comes the season in the dawning hght." 
 
 It was an easy victory, and won without loss. 
 Wiping his bloody sword upon the mane of his steed, 
 Major Singleton rode up to his captives, who, by this 
 time, were all properly secured. Four persons had 
 fallen in the conflict, and among these was their leader, 
 Travis. He was shot dead upon the spot. Clough 
 was severely wounded in the breast, though perhaps 
 not mortally, and lay gasping, but without a groan, 
 upon the ground where he had fallen, and around which 
 the surviving prisoners were grouped. Three others 
 had fallen, either killed outright or mortally wounded : 
 two of these by the sabre, not including the corporal, 
 who fell by the hand of Frampton, and who was at 
 once rolled into the swamp. The prisoners, five in 
 
100 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 number, were natives, generally of the very lowest 
 class, and just the sort of men to fight, according to the 
 necessity of the case, on either side. Such, indeed, 
 were the tories throughout the st^te, with very fev/ 
 exceptions. AVithout leading principles, and miserably 
 poor — not recognised, except as mercenaries, in the so- 
 cial aristocracies which must always prevail hi slave- 
 holding nations — they had no sympathy with the 
 more influential classes, — those who were the first to 
 resist the authority of England. The love of gain, 
 the thirst for rapine, and that marauding and gipsy habit 
 of life which was familiar to them, were all directly 
 appealed to in the tory mode of warfare. They were 
 ready on any side which offered them the greatest 
 chance for indulging in these habits ; and the sudden 
 preponderance of British power after the fall of Charles- 
 town determined the major part of this class of people in 
 favour of the invaders. The tories forming Huck's 
 cavalry were all of this sort ; and the small detachment 
 just overthrown by Singleton had no sympathy with 
 their leader, only as his known character promised them 
 plunder. Defeat had no attraction in their eyes ; and, 
 as that is always the true cause which is triumphant, 
 they now freely tendered themselves, with clamorous 
 tongues, and to the no small chagrin of the wounded 
 Clough, as recruits for Singleton. The Briton de- 
 nounced their perfidy in fearless language, and threat- 
 ened them terribly with the vengeance of Huck and 
 Tarleton ; but the remote fear is no fear with the vul- 
 gar. They seldom think in advance of the necessity, 
 and the exhortation of their wounded officer had no 
 visible effect. They persisted in their determination 
 to fight on the right side, and earnestly asserted their 
 love of country, alleging that force only had placed 
 them in the ranks of the enemy. Major Singleton con- 
 ferred with Humphries on the course to be taken in 
 this matter. The latter knew most of the parties, but 
 had been prudent to keep from sight, and they had not 
 seen him, only in the brief glimpse which they had of 
 him in the pursuit, when, at such a distance, perpetu- 
 
THE PARTISAN. 101 
 
 ally moving, and with his face well smeared with the 
 rank ooze from the creek aromid him, he must have been 
 unknown, except upon the narrowest examination, even 
 to the mother that had borne him. It was still his pol- 
 icy to keep from sight in connection with his whig par- 
 tisans ; for, passing in Dorchester as a loyal citizen — 
 a character in part obtained through his father's loudly- 
 voiced attachment to the existing powers — he was of 
 far greater advantage to the cause of the country than 
 he possibly could have been even in active military ser- 
 vice. He obtained intelligence with singular adroit- 
 ness, conveyed it with despatch, and planned enter- 
 prises upon what he knew, with no little tact and inge- 
 nuity. To remain unknown, therefore, or only known 
 as he had been heretofore, in close coimection with 
 loyalty alone, was clearly the policy of our lieutenant. 
 
 There was one man from whom Humphries seemed 
 willing to withhold his confidence. He coimselled his 
 commander to accept the services of the remaining 
 four, recommending that they should be so distributed 
 among the men who had been tried, as to defeat any 
 concert between them, should they feel any motive to 
 disaffection. In this mamier it was also thought a 
 proper bias would be given to their minds, which, as 
 they both knew, were sufficiently flexible to find but 
 little difficulty in conforming to any circumstances 
 which should for a moment take the shape of a ne- 
 cessity. 
 
 " But the fifth — the other fellow — the blear-eyed — 
 what of him? You say nothing of him, Humphries." 
 
 Singleton pointed through the copse as he spoke, 
 where the individual referred to leaned against a tree, 
 a little apart from the rest ; his head cast down, his 
 arms relaxed beside him, one leg at ease, while the 
 whole weight of his body rested upon the other. The 
 features of his face were dark and unprepossessing — 
 dark and sallow ; his cheeks lank and colourless ; a 
 small nose ; retreating forehead, covered with long thin 
 black hair, that streamed from imder a broad white hat, 
 something the worse for wear. A strange protrusion of 
 12 
 
102 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 his eyes gave his face a sinister expression, which was 
 not before lacking to produce distrust, or even dislike, 
 in the mind of the observer. Humphries gazed on 
 him a moment before he spoke, then, as if satisfied, he 
 proceeded to reply — 
 
 " I know nothing against the chap , major; but the 
 truth is, I don't like him. Indeed, I know nobody that 
 does. His right name is Blonay, but we all know 
 him better by the name of Goggle — a nickname which 
 he got on account of his eyes. Something has hurt 
 them Avhen young, which, you see, makes him stare 
 when he looks at you." 
 
 " Well, but we must not refuse him because he has 
 got a blear eye ; we are too much in need of men to 
 stand upon trifles. Know you nothing against him ]" 
 
 " The blood's bad that's in him. His father was a 
 horse-thief, and they do say, a mulatto or an Indian. 
 As for himself, the worst is, that we know nothing 
 about him ; and that's no good sign, major, in a country 
 where everybody knows the business of everybody. 
 How he lives, and where and by what means he gets 
 his bread, is a secret. He will not work ; but see 
 him when you will, you see him as you see him now 
 — one half of him sleeping, while the other half takes 
 the watch. Not that he can't move when the time 
 comes for it — or rather when he's in the humour for it. 
 Touch him close upon his goggle eye, and he's up in 
 arms in a moment. He will fight like a wildcat, too, 
 and that's in his favour ; but the worst is, he fights 
 with a bad heart, and loves to remember injuries. I do 
 believe they keep him from sleep at ^ight. He's not 
 like Carolinians in that ; he can't Icnock at once and 
 have done with it, but he goes to bed to think about it, 
 and to plan when to knock, so as never to have done 
 with it. He loves to keep his wrongs alive, so that he 
 may always be revenging." 
 
 " Still, I see nothing, lieutenant, that should make us 
 discourage his desires ; and, truth to say, it is far 
 easier for us now to keep doubtful friends in our 
 ranks, moving with us, and continually under our eye, 
 
THE PARTISAN. 103 
 
 than positive enemies in. our camp in the form of pris- 
 oners, whom we are bound to keep guard over. We 
 can manage our allies if they show signs of bad faith, 
 although we risk something, doubtless, even by the par- 
 tial confidence. Better do this than break up our little 
 force watching those who profess themselves friends, 
 and may yet prove so." 
 
 " You may be right, major, and I only speak perhaps 
 from an old prejudice ; but keep an eye upon him, for 
 he certainly will keep one on you. Even now he is 
 looking slyly to this bush, although he can't see or hear 
 either of us, but, after the old fashion, to find out what 
 he can. If he were only honest, he'd be a spy among 
 a thousand." 
 
 " I will see to him in particular, and if it be possible 
 to drill honesty into him, something may be got out of 
 him yet. We must take him." 
 
 " Very good, sir ; — and you now go back into the 
 camp ?" 
 
 " Yes : we must put the woimded man into some 
 sort of care, though he will suffer,wanting attendance." 
 
 " Leave that to me, sir. You take him into camp, 
 and I have two men to come out this very day, one of 
 whom is a sort of doctor — good as any one hereabout. 
 He used to drench horses in Dorchester ; and some 
 of the grannies did say, that there were no drinks like 
 those made by Doctor Oakenburg — that was because 
 he put more of brandy in them than any thing else ; 
 and if a Dorchester granny loves one thing more than 
 another, after opium, it is brandy ; and sometimes, 
 liking them equally well, she takes both together. He, 
 major, and the old negro, with some one of the troop, 
 will be guard enough, and Frampton's son Lance cau 
 stay with them in the swamp. He's quite too young to 
 be of much service, and will only learn what's bad, 
 going with the troop." 
 
 " 1 have thought better of that, and shall endeavour 
 to attach the boy to myself, and probably, in the end, 
 place him at ' The Oaks' with my uncle. But time 
 wears, and we must move for the camp. I shall take 
 
104 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 these men into service, and place the wounded man 
 under the charge of one of the troopers, and your doc- 
 tor can relieve him." 
 
 " He comes to-day, with another — a fat overgrown 
 creature, just fit for the camp, though he fights well and 
 is true," was the reply of Humphries. 
 
 Having thus counselled, the two proceeded to confer 
 apart upon other matters connected with their enter- 
 prise. To visit " The Oaks" during the day, where his 
 uncle and sister resided, was the object of Singleton ; 
 but his desire was also to intercept the supply of arms 
 and ammunition of which Huck had spoken as on their 
 way to Dorchester. They were looked for hourly, and 
 could not be very remote. It was determined, there- 
 fore, to intercept them, if practicable, as an acquisition 
 of the last importance. To arrange their route, plan 
 the place of their next meeting, provide the means of in- 
 telligence, and concert what local measures might 
 seem necessary in future, was the work of but little 
 time between the two ; and this done, Humphries, 
 withdrawing silently from the cover in which this con- 
 ference had been carried on, unperceived by the rest, 
 made his way by a different route out of the swamp, 
 and keeping the forest all the way, was, after no long 
 time, safely in Dorchester — looking for all the world as 
 pacific and quiet as ever — without weapon of any 
 kind, as, with a wonted precaution, he had left his 
 sword in the woods, safely hidden, and his hands now 
 grasped only the common wagon-whip, which he 
 handled with a dexterity which seemed to indicate but 
 'little acquaintance with any more dangerous or deadly 
 instruments. 
 
 Major Singleton, in the mean while, had returned to 
 his troop. They had been busied during his absence 
 in collecting the scattered horses and arms, and re- 
 pairing their own little losses. The captives were 
 loud in their desire to be received among them ; and, as 
 rebellion loves company, the whigs were not unwilling 
 to receive an accession, even from their late enemies. 
 Major Singleton declared his acceptance of their ser- 
 
THE PARTISAN. 105 
 
 vices, taking care to address himself particularly to 
 the man Blonay, or, as they styled him more familiarly, 
 Goggle. An awkward touch of the hat acknowledged 
 this last courtesy, and one eye of Goggle, as he made 
 the movement, peered up into those of Singleton with 
 a searching and doubtful glance. The major did 
 not appear to notice him or them any farther, but, 
 giving directions for the disposal of the wounded ser- 
 geant, Clough, so as to spare him as much pain as pos- 
 sible, he led the way once more to the cover of the se- 
 cluded place, in the centre of the swamp, which had 
 been chosen as their camping-ground. Here they ar- 
 rived at length, and having completed his arrange- 
 ments, placing Clough in the charge of one of his dra- 
 goons, and in as much comfort as possible, Major Sin- 
 gleton gave the word, and the squad moved forward on 
 their way out of the swamp, and in the direction of 
 the village. But this course was only kept while he 
 yet remained in the swamp. As soon as he emerged 
 from it, he drew up his men, and then, for the first 
 time, perceived the absence of the elder Frampton. 
 The two sons had kept with the troop, and seemed 
 to know nothing of their father. The younger had rid- 
 den close beside his commander, who had so willed it. 
 Nobody could give him any account of the absent man 
 after his removal from the body of the corporal whom 
 he had slain. He had disappeared suddenly then, it 
 was thought ; and there were not wanting those who 
 insisted upon his absence from that time ; but Single- 
 ton remembered to have seen him after they had 
 reached the camp, and to have noted the singular 
 composedness of his features. But few farther in- 
 quiries were made after the absentee, as the major 
 well knew that with a man in such a mood but little 
 could be done. He was, perhaps, perfectly satis- 
 lied that nothing could have happened to him, from the 
 composure of the two sons, who, doubtless, were ac- 
 quainted with the father's movement. Conjecture suc- 
 ceeded to inquiry, only interrupted by the order to 
 move on. 
 
106 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 The course of the troop lay now towards the Goose 
 Creek road. Major Singleton dared not carry his squad 
 along the Ashley without exposing himself, unnecessa- 
 rily, to unequal encounter ; and, at Dorchester, with a 
 force far superior to his own. Pursuing a northerly di- 
 rection for a while, therefore, he placed himself at equal 
 distances between the Wassamasah and Dorchester 
 roads ; then striking to the left, he passed over an 
 untravelled surface of country, broken with frequent 
 swamps, and crowded with luxuriant undergrowth. In 
 a few hours, however, he had gone over the ground 
 almost unseen, and certainly unobstructed. Davis was 
 his guide in this quarter, and he could not have had a 
 better. The discarded lover had given sufficient ear- 
 nest of his truth and valour, in the courage and perfect 
 coolness of his conduct in the preceding struggle ; and 
 he now led the party with all the caution of the veteran, 
 and all the contidence of a thorough-bred soldier. The 
 road, like all in that country, was low and miry ; 
 and the path taken for greater security, being little trav- 
 elled, was still more troubled with obstructions. They 
 reached the desired point at length, which was the 
 Goose Greek Bridge ; then leaving it to the left, they 
 once more departed from the beaten track, and throwing 
 themselves directly across the country, were, after a 
 few hours, again upon the Dorchester road, and some 
 two or three miles below the garrison. They covered 
 themselves in the close forest by Archdale Hall, and 
 Singleton then proceeded to inspect the road. To his 
 great satisfaction, he saw that the wagons had not yet 
 made their appearance, and must be still below them. 
 Overjoyed at this, he despatched scouts to bring him 
 intelligence, and then proceeded to arrange an ambush 
 for the entrapping of the looked-for detachment. 
 
 The road, at the spot chosen for this purpose, was nar- 
 row — but a single track, and that raised into a causeway 
 from a ditch on either side, at that time filled with 
 water, and scarcely passable without great difficulty. 
 The woods, growing close and thickly, formed a nat- 
 ural defile, of which Singleton, with the eye of experi* 
 
THE PARTISAN* 107 
 
 ence, soon availed himself. He divided his little force 
 iftto two equal bodies ; and giving the command of one 
 of them to Davis, placed him upon the right of the 
 road in the route from Charlestow^n, while he himself 
 occupied the left. The former division lying in am- 
 bush some thirty yards below, was ready, in the event of 
 a struggle between the baggage guard and Singleton's 
 troop, to which it was to be left, to secure the precious 
 charge which the guard had undertaken to defend, and 
 at the same time to cut off their retreat. Thus arranged, 
 and with the plan of conduct properly understood on all 
 hands, the parties lay in cover, impatiently awaiting 
 the approach of the enemy. 
 
 They had not long to wait ; for scarcely had their 
 arrangements been well completed, before the scouts 
 came at full gallop along the path, crying loudly that 
 the enemy was at hand. A shot or two whistled over 
 the heads of the fugitives at the same moment, giving 
 full confirmation to their intelligence ; and a few seconds 
 after, the rush of half a score of British dragoons was 
 heard upon their footsteps. Passing through the ambus- 
 cade without pausing for an instant, the scouts kept on 
 their flight, bringing the pursuers fairly between the two 
 parties. Once enclosed, a shrill whistle from Singleton 
 announced the charge which he led in person ; and 
 dashing out from his cover, he threw his men quickly 
 betweenthe flying scouts and the assailants. In the 
 same moment the squad of Davis obeying the same 
 signal, as repeated by their leader, followed him as 
 he charged upon the force left in possession of the mu- 
 nition wagons. The guard in this quarter seeing the 
 inequality of the force, and struck with the surprise, 
 "offered but a feeble resistance, and were soon put to 
 flight. Davis followed them a little distance, and then 
 returned to the aid of Singleton. His approach and 
 attack upon the rear of the party with which his com- 
 mander had been contending, put an end to the fight — 
 the dragoons having lost three men killed and two 
 wounded. With the charge of Davis, they threw down 
 their arms and were made prisoners. 
 
108 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 The whole affair was over in the space of ten min- 
 utes. In as little time the wagons were ransacked. 
 The swords and pistols were strewn upon the ground, 
 and each trooper made his selection without stint or 
 limit. In addition to this, each soldier was required to 
 carry an extra sword, and holsters with their contents ; 
 and in this manner supplies were secured for a much 
 larger force than that which Singleton now commanded. 
 The rest were broken against the trees — muskets, pis- 
 tols, and swords sharing the same fate — while the wag- 
 ons themselves, carefully tumbled from their axles, and 
 their wheels torn apart, were thrown into the slough by 
 the road-side. The necessity which called for this 
 destruction of property, so valuable at the time, was the 
 subject of no small regret with the troopers. Even 
 Davis nmttered to the major his desire that the wag- 
 ons, or at least one of them, should be preserved and 
 filled with spoils so highly important to the enterprise. 
 But Singleton knew better than to encumber his party, 
 whose utility consisted chiefly in the rapidity of its 
 movement, with such burdens, and peremptorily enforced 
 the order which destroyed the valuable residue. This 
 done, he gave orders to mount ; and having carefully 
 secured his prisoners, the party moved at a brisk pace 
 along the road downward until they came within ten 
 miles of the city ; then moving to the right, they crossed 
 Ashley ferry without molestation, and towards evening 
 had placed themselves in safety, Avith all their spoils, 
 in the close swamp thickets of the Stonoe river, just 
 where it inclines to the Ashley, and but a short distance 
 from Dorchester itself. 
 
 Here Singleton made his camp, within a few miles 
 of his uncle's plantation. He now felt secure for a 
 brief period, as he was taught to believe that the affec- 
 tions of the people were with his cause, and the rapidity 
 of his proceedings must baffle any pursirit. Still he 
 knew that he could not hope to maintain this security 
 for any time. The audacity of the two efforts which 
 he had made that day, so nigh the garrison, could not 
 long be concealed, and must soon call out a superior 
 
T^HE PARTISAN. 109 
 
 force equal to his annihilation. This he well knew ; 
 yet he renuired but a few days for all his purposes. 
 His object was twofold — the attainment of recruits, 
 and the arousing of his uncle, whose bravery was well 
 known, and whose influence in the country was con- 
 siderable, to a proper sense of his duty. The first of 
 these objects promised well, so far as opportunity had 
 been given him ; — of the second he did not despair, 
 particularly as lie well knew what must be the influence 
 upon Colonel Walton of the recent proclamation of 
 Sir Henry Clinton. He knew the stern sense of integ- 
 rity which the colonel insisted upon with the tenacity 
 of a professional moral disciplinarian ; and he did not 
 err m the thought, that his sense of humanity was suf- 
 ficiently alive to prompt a due indignation at the many 
 atrocities hourly committed by the tory leaders under 
 the especial sanction of the British. Other motives 
 for the contemplated visit might not be wanting to his 
 mind, as he thought of his lovely cousin — the stately 
 and the beautiful Katharine Walton — one of those liigh- 
 souled creatures that awe while 4hey attract ; and, even 
 while they invite and captivate, control and discour- 
 age. His sister, too — she was there ; a meek, sad, l?ut 
 imcomplaining girl, perishing of disease, Avithout having 
 lived — one of the unrepining sufferers, whose melan- 
 choly fortunes, so at variance with what we know of 
 their deservings, would lead us sometimes improperly to 
 doubt of that justice which we assume to mark all the 
 decrees of Providence. But let us not anticipate. 
 
 Having placed his camp in such security as he 
 thought necessary and was practicable, Major Singleton 
 towards sunset rode forth in the direction of Dorchester 
 Bridge to meet Humphries, as had been agreed upon 
 between them. The lieutenant was in waiting at the 
 time appointed, and came forward to meet his supe- 
 rior. 
 
 " Ride aside. Major Singleton, if you please. The 
 brush is best for us just now. There are strange birds 
 on our roost that we must sheer from." 
 
 " What mean you, Humphries — what birds ?" 
 
 Vol. I.— K 
 
110 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 " British officers ! Col. Proctor himself and another 
 have just gone by, and if I mistake not, on a visit to 
 ' The Oaks.' They say he looks hard upon your 
 cousin, sir, the beautiful Miss Katharine." 
 
 " Ha ! do they say that ?" responded Major Single- 
 ton, with something like a start — " and she ?" he con- 
 tinued, inquiringly. 
 
 " They say nothing of her, whether she likes it or not ; 
 but young ladies will be young ladies, major ; and a 
 smart officer, with a king's commission in his pocket, 
 and a showy red coat on his back, is no small danger 
 to an easy heart." 
 
 " No, indeed !" replied the other, in a tone which 
 seemed to have found nothing consolatory in his com- 
 panion's reflection, and in which there may have been 
 something of latent bitterness — " no, indeed ! — such 
 attractions are at all times sweet with the sex, and sel- 
 dom utterly unsuccessful. Tliey love the conquest, 
 always, even when they may despise the game. It's 
 with them all after this fashion, and the goodly outside 
 is a fair offset to worth and good manners. But how 
 shall we know, of a certainty, the destination of Proc- 
 tor ?" 
 
 " Only by dogging his footsteps, major. We may 
 do that with some safety, however, as I happen to know 
 the back track which hugs the river, and is seldom 
 travelled. This brings us close on the park, yet gives 
 us a good shelter all the way along the copse. We 
 shall take our watch, and yet be all the time hidden ; 
 and where I shall carry yovi shall give us a fair peep 
 at all the gromids as well as the river." 
 
 " That is well. And now of Dorchester : what stirs 
 in the village, and what of Huck? Do they know yet 
 of the affair of the swamp, or are they ever like to 
 know ?" 
 
 " They know not yet, certainly ; but Huck musters 
 strong, and talks of a drive to Camden. There is news, 
 too, which moves the garrison much. They talk of the 
 continentals from Virginia." 
 
 '« Do they ? they must be De Kalb's. And what do 
 
THE PARTISAN. Ill 
 
 they say on the subject ? do they speak of him as at 
 hand ?" 
 
 " Nothing much, hut they look a deal, and the whig3 
 talk a little more boldly. This prox'okes Hack, who 
 threatens a start on the strength of it, and is hurrying 
 his recruits for that purpose. There is also some talk 
 of a force from North Carolina under Sumter, and they 
 have got wind of the last move of our Colonel Marion, 
 thereaway among Gainey's corps of tories, where you 
 cut them up in such fine style ; but there's nothing cer- 
 tain, and this I get out of Huck in curses now and then. 
 He's mighty anxious that I should join him, and I'm 
 thinking to do so, if it promises to give me a better 
 hold on him." 
 
 " Think not of it, Humphries ; it will be twice put- 
 ting your neck in the halter, and the good that it may 
 do is too doubtful to encourage such a risk." 
 
 " He presses me mighty hard, major, and I must 
 keep out of his way or consent. He begins to wonder 
 why I do not join his troop, and with some reason too, 
 believing me to be a loyalist, for certainly, were I to 
 do so, it would be the very making of me." 
 
 " Thou wouldst not turn traitor, Humphries ?" replied 
 the other, looking sternly upon the speaker. 
 
 " Does Major Singleton ask the question now ?" was 
 the reply, in a tone which had in it something of reproach. 
 " I should not, certainly, Humphries, knowing what 
 I do. Forgive me ; but in these times there is so 
 much to make us suspect our neighbours, that suspi- 
 cions become natural to every mind. You I know, how- 
 ever, and I have trusted you too long not to continue 
 in my confidence now. But how come on our re- 
 cruits ?" 
 
 " Tolerably : as you say, these are suspicious times, 
 major, and they are slow to trust. But the feeling is 
 good with us, and they only wait to see some of the 
 chances in our favour before they come out boldly in 
 the cause." 
 
 " Now, out upon the calculating wretches ! Will 
 they dare nothing, but always wait for the lead of others ? 
 
112 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 Chances, indeed ! as if true courage and a bold heart 
 did not always make their own. But what of the vil- 
 lagers 1 How of that old tavern-keeper of whom you 
 spake — ^your father's rival ?" 
 
 " But so no longer. Old Pryor, you mean. He is 
 a prime piece of stuff, and will not scruple to do what's 
 wanted. He was always true with us, though kept 
 down by those about him ; yet he only wants to see 
 others in motion to move too. He'll do any thing now 
 — the more readilj^ as the Royal George, being entirely 
 loyal, does all the business ; and poor Pryor, being all 
 along suspected, has not a customer left. He'd burn 
 the town, now, if we put it into his head V 
 
 " Well, just now we lack no such spirit. May not 
 his rashness prompt him to too much speech ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; that's the beauty of rebellion with old 
 Pryor. It has hands and a weapon, but it wants 
 tongue. If he felt pain, and was disposed to tell 
 of it, his teeth would resist, and grin down the feeling. 
 No fear of him ; he talks too little : and as for blab- 
 bing, his wife might lie close, and listen all night, and 
 his dreams would be as speechless as his humour. 
 He locks up his thoughts in close jaws, and at best 
 only damns a bit when angered, and walks off with 
 his hands in his breeches-pocket." 
 
 " A goodly comrade for a dark night ! But let us 
 move. Dusk closes upon us, and we may travel now 
 ■with tolerable security. Our course is for the river?" 
 
 ♦' Yes ; a hundred yards will take us in sight of it, 
 and we keep it the whole way. But we must hug the 
 bush, as much out of sight there as if we were upon 
 the high-road. There are several boats, chiefly armed, 
 upon it now, besides the galley which runs up and 
 down — some that have brought supplies to the garrison. 
 Their shot would be troublesome, did they see us." 
 
 They rode down the hill, entered a long copse, and 
 the river wound quietly on its way a little below them. 
 They were now on a line with the fortress of Dor- 
 chester ; the flag streamed gaudily from the staff, 
 iand they could see through the bushes that several 
 
THE PARTISAN. 113 
 
 vessels of small burden Avere passing to and fro. 
 They sank back again into the woods, and kept on 
 their course in comparative silence, until, close upon 
 sunset, they found themselves at a few hundred yards 
 from " The Oaks ;" the spacious and lofty dwelling 
 rising dimly out of the woods before them, while from 
 their feet the extensive groimds of the park spread 
 away in distance and final obscurity. 
 
 Leaving them to amuse themselves as they may, let 
 us now return to the Cypress Swamp, where we left 
 the wounded Clough under the charge of the dragoon 
 and negro. The injury he had received, though not, 
 perhaps, a fatal one, was yet serious enough to render 
 immediate attention highly important to his safety ; 
 but in that precarious time surgeons were not readily 
 to be found, and the Americans, who were without 
 money, were not often indulged with their services. 
 The several corps of the leading partisans, such as 
 Marion, and Sumter, Pickens, Horry, &c., fought daily 
 in the swamps and along the highways, with the pain- 
 ful conviction that, save by some lucky chance, their 
 wounds must depend entirely upon nature to be healed. 
 In this way, simply through want of tendance, hundreds 
 perished in that warfare of privation, whom, with a few 
 simple specifics, medical care Would have sent again 
 into the combat, after a few days' nursing, hearty and 
 unimpaired. The present circumstances of Clough's 
 condition were not of a character to lead him to hope 
 for a better fortune, and he gave himself up despond- 
 ingly to his fate, after having made a brief effort to 
 bribe his keeper to assist in his escape. But attend- 
 ance was at hand, if we may so call it, and after a few 
 hours' suffering, the approach of Doctor Oakenburg 
 was announced to the patient. 
 
 The doctor was a mere culler of simples, a stufler 
 of birds and reptiles, a digger of roots, a bark and 
 poultice doctor — in other words, a mere pretender. 
 He was wretchedly ignorant of every thing like medi- 
 cal science, but he had learned to physic. He made 
 beverages which, if not always wholesome, were, at 
 K2 
 
114 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 least, sometimes far from disagreeable to the counfry 
 housewives, who frequently took the nostrum for the 
 sake of the stimulant. Doctor Oakenburg knew per- 
 fectly the want, if he cared little for the need, of his 
 neighbours ; and duly heedful of those around him who 
 indulged in pipe and tobacco, he provided the bark and 
 the brandy. A few bitter roots and herbs constituted 
 his entire stock of medicines ; and with these well 
 armed at all points and never unprovided, he had worked 
 out for himself no small reputation in that section of 
 country. But this good fortune lasted only for a season. 
 Some of his patients took their departure after the 
 established fashion ; some, more inveterate with that 
 prejudice which distinguishes the bad subject, turned 
 their eyes on rival remedies ; many were scattered 
 abroad and beyond the reach of our doctor by the 
 chances of war ; and with a declining reputation and 
 wofully diminished practice, Oakenburg was fain, 
 though a timid creature, to link his own with the equally 
 doubtful fortunes of the partisan militia. This decision, 
 after some earnest argument, and the influence of a 
 more earnest necessity, Humphries at length persuaded 
 him to adopt, after having first assured him of the per- 
 fect security andunharming character of the warfare in 
 which he was required to engage. 
 
 With a dress studiously disposed in order, a head 
 well plastered v^ith pomatum, and sprinkled with the 
 powder so freely worn at the time, a ragged frill care- 
 fully adjusted upon his bosom to conceal the injuries 
 of time, and an ostentatious exhibition of the shrunken 
 shank, garnished at the foot with monstrous buckles 
 that once might have passed for silver, Oakenburg 
 still persisted in exhibiting as many of the evidences 
 of the reduced gentleman as he possibly could pre- 
 serve. His manner was tidy, like his dress. His 
 snuff-box twinkled for ever between his fingers, one of 
 which seemed swollen by the monstrous paste ring 
 which enriched it ; and his gait was dancing and elas- 
 tic, as if his toes had volunteered to do all the duty of 
 his feet. His mode of speech, too, was excessively 
 
THE PARTISAN. 115 
 
 finical and delicate — the words passing through his 
 lips with difficulty ; for he dreaded to open them too 
 wide, lest certain deficiences in his jaws should be- 
 come too conspicuously notorious. These deficiencies 
 had the farther effect of giving him a lisping accent, 
 which not a little added to the pretty delicacies of his 
 other features. 
 
 He passed through the swamp with infinite difficulty, 
 and greatly to the detriment of his shoes and stockings. 
 Riding a small tackey (a little, inconsiderate animal, 
 that loves the swamp, and is usually born and bred in 
 it), he was compelled continually to be on the look-out 
 for, and defence against, the overhanging branches and 
 vines clustering about the trees, through which his 
 horse, in its own desire to clamber over the roots, con- 
 tinually and most annoyingly bore him. In this toil he 
 was compelled to pay far less attention to his legs than 
 was due to their well-being ; and it was not until they 
 were well drenched in the various bogs through which 
 he had gone, that he was enabled to see how dreadfully 
 he had neglected their even elevation to the saddle skirts 
 — a precaution absolutely necessary at all times in such 
 places, but more particularly when the rider is mounted 
 upon a short, squat animal, such as our worthy doctor 
 bestrode. He was under the guidance of an elderly, 
 drinking sort of person — one of the fat, beefy class, 
 whose worship of the belly-god has given an unhappy 
 distension to that ambitious though most erring mem- 
 ber. The man leered with his little eyes as he saw 
 the doctor plunging from pool to pool without lifting his 
 legs, but he was too fond of a joke to say any thing in 
 the way of warning. Indeed, any warning on the sub- 
 ject of his dangling legs would most probably have 
 fallen upon unheeding ears ; for Doctor Oakenburg 
 was too little of an equestrian not to feel the necessity, 
 while battling with his brute for their mutual g-uidance, 
 of keeping his pendulous members carefully balanced on 
 each side, to prevent any imdue preponderance of one 
 over the other — a predicament of which he had much 
 seeming apprehension. In the mean time, the lively 
 
116 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 big-bellied man who rod*e beside him chuckled inconti- 
 nently, though in secret. He pretended great care of 
 his companion, and advised him to sundry changes of 
 direction, all for the worse, Avhich the worthy doctor in 
 his tribulation did not scruple to adopt. 
 
 " Ah ! Squire Porgy," said he, complaining, though 
 in his most mincing manner, as they reached a spot of 
 dry land, upon which they stopped for a moment's rest — 
 " ah ! Squire Porgy, this is but unclean travelling, and 
 full too of various peril. At one moment I did hear of 
 a plunging, dashing sound in the pond beside me, which 
 it came to my thought was an alligator — one of those 
 monstrous reptiles that are hurtful to children, and even 
 to men." 
 
 " Ay, doctor, and make no bones of whipping off a 
 thigh-bone, at or least a leg: and you have been in 
 danger more than once to-day." 
 
 The doctor looked down most wofully at his be- 
 smeared pedestals ; and the shudder which went over 
 his whole frame was perceptible to his companion, 
 whose chuckle it increased proportionably. 
 
 "And yet. Squire Porgy," said he, looking round 
 him with a most wo-begone apprehension — " yet did 
 our friend Humphries assure me that our new occu- 
 pation was one of perfect security. 'Perfect secu- 
 rity' were the precise words he used when he coun- 
 selled me to this xmdertaking." 
 
 " Perfect security !" said Porgy, and the man laughed 
 out aloud. " Why, doctor, look there at the snake 
 winding over the bank before you — look at that, and 
 then talk of perfect security." 
 
 The doctor turned his eyes to the designated pomt, 
 and beheld the long and beautiful volumes of the beaded 
 snake, as, slowly crossing their path witli his pack of 
 linked jewels full in their view, he wound his way from 
 one bush into another, and gradually folded himself up 
 out of sight. The doctor, however, was not to be 
 alarmed by this survey. He had a passion for snakes ; 
 and admiration suspended all his fear, as he gazed upon 
 the beautiful but dangerous reptile. 
 
THE PARTISAN. H7 
 
 '* Now would I rejoice, Squire Porgy, were yon ser- 
 pent in my poor cabinet at Dorchester. He would 
 greatly beautify my collection." And as the man of 
 simples spoke, he gazed on the retiring snake with en- 
 vying eye. 
 
 " Well, doctor, get down and chunk it. If it's worth 
 having, it's worth killing." 
 
 " True, Master Porgy ; but it would be greatly detri- 
 mental to my shoes to alight in such a place as this, 
 for the thick mud would adhere — " 
 
 " Ay, and so would you, doctor — you'd stick — but 
 not the snake. But come, don't stand looking after 
 the bush, if you won't go into it. You can get snakes 
 enough in the swamp — ay, and without much seeking. 
 The place is full of them." 
 
 " This of a certainty. Squire Porgy? know you this V 
 
 " Ay, I know it of my own knowledge. You can see 
 them here almost any hour in the day, huddled up like 
 a coil of rope on the edge of the tussock, and look- 
 ing down at their own pretty figures in the water." 
 
 " And you think the serpent has vanity of his per- 
 son ?" inquired the doctor, gravely. 
 
 " Think — I don't think about it, doctor — I know it," 
 replied the other, confidently. "And it stands to rea- 
 son, you see, that where there is beauty and brightness 
 there must be self-love and vanity. It's a poor fool 
 that don't know his own possession." 
 
 " There is truly some reason, Squire Porgy, in what 
 you have said touching this matter ; and the instinct is 
 a correct one which teaches the serpent, such as that 
 which we have just seen, to look into the stream as one 
 of the other sex into a mirror, to see that its jewels are 
 not displaced, and that its motion may not be awry, but 
 graceful. There is reason in it." 
 
 " And truth. But we are nigh our quarters, and here 
 is a soldier waiting us." 
 
 " A soldier, squire ! — he is friendly, perhaps ?" 
 
 The manner of the phrase was interrogatory, and 
 Porgy replied with his usual chuckle. 
 
 " Ay, ay, friendly enough, though dangerous if vexed. 
 
 X 
 
118 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 See what a sword he carries — and those pistols ! I 
 would not risk much, doctor, to say, there are no less 
 than sixteen buckshot in each of those barkers." 
 
 " My ! you don't say so, squire ! Yet did William 
 Humphries say to me that the duty was to be done in 
 perfect security." 
 
 The last sentence fell from the doctor's lips in a sort 
 of comment to himself, but his companion replied — 
 
 " Ay, security as perfect, doctor, as war will admit 
 of. You talk of perfect security : there is no such 
 thing — no perfect security anywhere — and but little 
 security of any kind until dinner's well over. I feel the 
 uncertainty of life till then. Then, indeed, we may 
 know as much security as life knows. We have, at 
 least, secured what secures life. We may laugh at 
 danger then ; and if we must meet it, why, at least we 
 shall not be compelled to meet it in that worst condi- 
 tion of all — an empty stomach. I am a true English- 
 man in that, though they do call me a rebel. I feel my 
 origin only when eating ; and am never so well disposed 
 towards the enemy as when I'm engaged, tooth and nail, 
 in that savoury occupation, and with roast-beef. Would 
 that we had some of it now !" 
 
 The glance of Oakenburg, who was wretchedly 
 spare and lank, looked something of disgust as he 
 heard this speech of the gourmand, and listened to the 
 smack of his lips with which he concluded it. 
 
 He had no taste for corpulence, and probably this was 
 one of the silent impulses which taught him to admire 
 the gaunt and attenuated form of the snake. Porgy 
 did not heed his expression of countenance, but looking 
 up over head where the sun stood just above them peer- 
 ing down imperfectly through the close umbrage, he ex- 
 claimed to the soldier, while pushing his horse through 
 the creek which separated them — 
 
 " Hark you, Wilkins, boy, is it not high time to 
 feed ? horse and man — -man and horse, boy, all hungry 
 and athirst." 
 
 " We shall find a bite for you, squire, before long— 
 
THE PARTISAN. 119 
 
 but here's a sick man the doctor must see to at once : 
 he's in a mighty bad way, I tell you." 
 
 " A sick man, indeed !" and the doctor, thrusting 
 his hands into his pocket, drew forth a bottle, filled 
 with a dark thick liquid, which he shook violently until 
 it gathered into a foam upon the surface. Armed 
 with this, he approached the little bark shanty under 
 which reposed the form of the wounded Clough. 
 
 " You are hurt, worthy sir V said the mediciner, in- 
 quiringly ; " you have not been in a condition of per- 
 fect security — such as life requires. But lie quiet, I 
 pray you ; be at ease, while I look into your injuries," 
 said the doctor, condolingly, and proceeded to the 
 outstretched person of the wounded man with great de- 
 liberation. 
 
 " You need not look very far — here they are," cried 
 Clough, faintly, but peevishly, in reply, as he pointed 
 to the wound in his side. 
 
 The doctor looked at the spot, shook his head, 
 clapped on a plaster of pine gum, administered a dose 
 of his nostrum, which the patient gulped at prodigi- 
 ously, and then telling him he would do well, repeated 
 his order to lie quiet and say nothing. Hurrying away 
 to his saddle-bags after this had been done, with the 
 utmost despatch he drew forth a pair of monstrous leg- 
 gings, which he bandaged carefully around his shrunken 
 pedestals. In a moment after he was upon his tackey, 
 armed with a stick, and hastening" back upon the route 
 he had just passed over. Porgy, who was busy urging 
 the negro cook in the preparation of his dinner, cried out 
 to the dealer of simples, but received no answer. The 
 doctor had no thought but of the snake he had seen, for 
 whose conquest and capture he had now set forth, with 
 all the appetite of a boy after adventures, and all the 
 anxiety of an inveterate naturalist, to get at the prop- 
 erties of the object he pursued. Meanwhile the new- 
 comer, Porgy, had considerably diverted the thought 
 of the trooper from attention to his charge ; and lay- 
 ing down his sabre between them, the sentinel threw 
 himself along the ground where Porgy had already 
 
120 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 Stretched himself, and a little lively chat and good com- 
 pany banished from his mind, for a season, the consid- 
 eration of his prisoner. His neglect furnished an op- 
 portunity long watched and waited for by another. The 
 shanty in which Clough lay stood on the edge of the 
 island, and was one of those simple structures which 
 the Indian makes in his huntings. A stick rested at 
 either end between the crotch of a tree, and small sap- 
 lings, leaning against it on one side, were covered with 
 broad flakes of the pine bark. A few bushes, piled up 
 partially in front, completed the structure, which formed 
 no bad sample of the mode of hutting it, winter and 
 summer, in the swamps and forests of the South, by the 
 partisan warriors. In the rear of the fabric stood a 
 huge cypress, from the hollow of which, at the moment 
 when the sentinel and Porgy seemed most diverted, a 
 man might have been seen approaching. He cautiously 
 wound along on all-fours, keeping as much out of sight as 
 possible, until he reached the back of the hut ; then lift- 
 ing from the saplings a couple of the largest pieces of 
 bark which covered them, he introduced his body without 
 noise into the tenement of the wounded man. Clough 
 was in a stupor — a half-dozy consciousness was upon 
 him — and he muttered something to the intruder, though 
 without any fixed object. The man replied not, but 
 approaching closely, put his hand upon the bandagings 
 of the wound, drawing them gently aside. The first 
 distinct perception which the prisoner had of his situa- 
 tion was the agonizing sense of a new wound, as of 
 some sharp weapon driven directly into the pas- 
 sage made by the old one. He writhed under the in- 
 strument as it slanted deeper and deeper into his vitals, 
 but he had not strength to resist, and but little to cry 
 out. He would have done so, but the sound had 
 scarcely risen to his lips, when the murderer thrust a 
 tuft of grass into his mouth and stifled all complaint. 
 The knife went deeper — the whole frame of the assail- 
 ant was upon it, and all motion ceased on the part of 
 the sufterer with the single groan and distorted writh- 
 ing which followed the last agony. In a moment 
 
THE PARTISAN 121 
 
 after, the stranger had departed by the way he came,- 
 and it was not till he had reached the thick swamp 
 around, that the fearful laugh of the maniac Frampton, 
 for it was he, announced the success of his new effort 
 at revenge. The laugh reached Porgy and the dragoon 
 — they heard the groan also, but that was natural enough. 
 Nothing short of absolute necessity could have moved 
 either of them at that moment — the former being busied 
 with a rasher of bacon and a hoe-cake hot from the 
 fire, and the latter indulging in an extra swig of brandy 
 from a canteen which Porgy, with characteristic provi- 
 dence, had brought well filled along with him. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Now, this were sorry wisdom, to persuade 
 My sword to mine own throat. If I must out, 
 Why should I out upon mine ancient friend, 
 And spare mine enemy ?" 
 
 " The Oaks," the dwelling-place of Colonel Wal- 
 ton, was one of those old-time residences of the Caro- 
 lina planters to which, at this day, there attaches a sort 
 of human interest. A thousand local traditions hang 
 around them — a thousand stories of the olden time, and 
 of its associations of peril and adventure. The estate 
 formed one of the frontier-plantations upon the Ashley, 
 and was the site of a colonial barony. It had stood 
 sieges of the Indians in the wars of the Edistoes and 
 Yemassees ; and, from a block-house station at first, 
 it had grown to be an elegant mansion, improved in 
 European style, remarkable for the length and deep 
 shade of its avenues of solemn oak, its general grace of 
 arrangement, and the lofty and considerate hospitality 
 of its proprietors. Such, from its first foundation to 
 the period of which we speak, had been its reputation ; 
 and in no respect did the present owner depart from 
 
 Vol. I.— L 
 
122 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 the good tastes and the frank manly character of his 
 ancestors. 
 
 Colonel Richard Walton was a gentleman in every 
 sense of the word : simple, mipretending, unobtrusive, 
 and always considerate, he was esteemed and beloved 
 by all around him. Born to the possession of large 
 estates, his mind had been exercised happily by edu- 
 cation and travel ; and at the beginning of the revolu- 
 tionary struggle, he had been early found to advocate 
 the claims of his native colony. At the commencement 
 of the war he commanded a party of horse, and had 
 been concerned in some of the operations against Pre- 
 vost, in the rapid foray which that general made into 
 Carolina. When Charlestown fell before the arms of 
 Sir Henry Clinton, overawed as was the entire country 
 below the Santee by the immediate presence in force 
 of the British army, he had tendered his submission 
 along with the rest of the inhabitants, despairing of any 
 better fortune. The specious offers of amnesty made 
 by Clinton and Arbuthnot, in the character of commis- 
 sioners for restoring peace to the revolted colonies, 
 and which called for nothing but neutrality from the 
 inhabitants, had the effect of deceiving him, in common 
 with his neighbours. Nor was this submission so partial 
 as we have been taught to think it. To the southward 
 of Charlestown, the militia, wiihout summons, sent in a 
 flag to the British garrison at Beaufort, and made their 
 submission. At Camden the inhabitants negotiated 
 their own terms of repose. In Ninety-Six the submis- 
 sion was the same ; and, indeed, with the exception of 
 the mountainous borders, all show of hostility ceased 
 throughout the colony — the people generally seeming 
 to prefer quiet on any terms, to a resistance which, 
 at that moment of despondency, seemed worse than 
 idle. 
 
 This considerate pliability secured him, as it was 
 thought, in all the immuniiies of the citizen, without 
 subjecting him to any of those military duties which, 
 in other respects, his majesty had a perfect right to 
 call for from his loyal subjects. Such, certainly, were 
 
THE PARTISAN. 123 
 
 the pledges of the British commanders — pledges made 
 with little reflection, or with designed subterfuge, and 
 violated with as little hesitation. They produced the 
 effect desired, in persuading to easy terms of arrange- 
 ment the people who might not have been conquered 
 but with great difliculty. Once disarmed and divided, 
 they were more easily overcome ; and it was not long 
 after the first object had been obtained before measures 
 were adopted well calculated to effect the other. 
 
 Colonel Walton, though striving hard to convince 
 himself of the propriety of the course which he had 
 taken, remained still unsatisfied. He could not be as- 
 sured of the propriety of submission when he beheld, 
 as he did hourly, the rank oppression and injustice by 
 which the conquerors strove to preserve their ascend- 
 ency over the doubtful, while exercising it wantonly 
 among the weak. He could not but see how uncertain 
 was the tenure of his own hold upon the invaders, whom 
 nothing seemed to bind in the shape of solemn obliga- 
 tion. The promised protection was that of the wolf, 
 and not the guardian dog ; it destroyed its charge, and 
 not its enemy ; and strove to ravage where it promised 
 to secure. As yet, it is true, none of these ills, in a 
 direct form, had fallen upon Colonel Walton ; he had 
 suffered no abuses in his own person or family : on the 
 contrary, such were his wealth and influence, that it 
 had been thought not unwise, on the part of the con- 
 querox's, to conciliate and sooth him. Still, the colonel 
 could not be insensible to the gradual approaches of 
 tyranny. He was not an unreflecting man ; and as 
 he saw the wrongs done to others, his eyes became 
 duly open to the doubtful value of his ov/n securities, 
 whenever the successes of the British throughout the 
 state should have become so general as to make them 
 independent of any individual influence. So thinking, 
 his mind gave a new stimulus to his conscience, which 
 now refused its sanction to the decision which, in a 
 moment of emergency and dismay, he had been per- 
 suaded to adopt. His sympathies were too greatly 
 with the oppressed, and their sufferings were too im- 
 
124 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 mediately under his own eyes, to permit of this ; and 
 gloomy with the consciousness of his error — and the 
 more so as he esteemed it now irremediable — vexed 
 with his momentary weakness, and apprehensive of the 
 future — his mind grew sullen with circumstances — his 
 feelings sank ; and, gradually withdrawing from all the 
 society around him, he solaced himself in his family 
 mansion with the small circle which widowhood, and 
 other privations of time, had spared him. Nor did 
 his grief pass without some alleviation in the company 
 of his daughter Katharine — she, the high-born, the 
 beautiful, the young — the admiration of her neighbour- 
 hood, revelling in power, yet seemingly all unconscious 
 of its sway. The rest of his family in this retirement 
 consisted of a maiden sister, and a niece, Emily 
 Singleton, whom, but a short time before, he had 
 brought from Santee, in the hope that a change of air 
 might be of benefit to that life which she held by a 
 tenure the most fleeting and capricious. 
 
 He saw but few persons besides. Studiously es- 
 tranging himself, he had no visiters, unless we may 
 except the occasional calls of the commanding officer 
 of the British post at Dorchester. This visiter, to 
 Colonel Walton, appeared only as one doing an ap- 
 pointed duty, and exercising upon these visits that kind 
 of surveillance over the people of the country which 
 seemed to be called for by his position. Colonel Proc- 
 tor had another object in his visits to " The Oaks." 
 He sought to ingratiate himself into the favour of the 
 father, on account of his lovely daughter ; and to the 
 charms of one, rather than the political feelings of the 
 other, were the eyes of the British officer properly 
 addressed. Katharine was not ignorant of her con- 
 quest, for Proctor made no efforts to conceal the 
 impression which she had made upon his heart. The 
 maiden, however, gave him but small encouragement. 
 She gloried in the name of a rebel lady, and formed 
 one of that beautiful array, so richly shining in the story 
 of Carolina, who, defying danger, and heedless of pri- 
 vation, spoke boldly in encouragement to those who 
 
THE PARTISAN. 125 
 
 yet continued to struggle for its liberties. She did not 
 conceal her sentiments ; and whatever may have been 
 the personal attractions of Colonel Proctor, they were 
 wanting in force to her mind, as she associated him with 
 her own and the enemies of her country. Her recep- 
 tion of her suitor was coldly courteous ; and that which 
 her father gave him, though always studiously consid- 
 erate and gentle, Colonel Proctor, at the same time, 
 could not avoid perceiving was constrained and frigid 
 — quite unlike the warm and familiar hospitality which 
 otherwise marked and still marks, even to this day, the 
 gentry of that neighbourhood. 
 
 It was drawing to a close — that day of events in the 
 history of our little squad of partisans whose dwelling 
 was the Cypress Swamp. Humphries, who had en- 
 gaged to meet Major Singleton with some necessary 
 intelligence from Dorchester, was already upon his 
 way to the place of meeting, and had just passed out 
 of sight of Ashley River, when he he<ard the tramp of 
 horses moving over the bridge, and on the same track 
 with himself. He sank into cover as they passed, 
 and beheld Colonel Proctor and a Captain Dickson, 
 both on station at the garrison, on their way to " The 
 Oaks." Humphries allowed them to pass ; then renew- 
 ing his ride, soon effected tlie meeting with Major Sin- 
 gleton. As we have already seen, their object was 
 " The Oaks" also ; but the necessity of avoiding a 
 meeting with the British officers was obvious, and they 
 kept close in the wood, leaving the ground entirely to 
 their opponents. 
 
 Though, as we have said, rather a frequent visiter 
 at " The Oaks," the present ride of Colonel Proctor in 
 that quarter had its usual stimulus dashed somewhat by 
 the sense of the business which occasioned it. Its 
 discharge was a matter of no little annoyance to the 
 Englishman, who was not less sensitive and generous 
 than brave. It was for the purpose of imparting to 
 Colonel Walton, in person, the contents of that not 
 yet notorious proclamation of Sir Henry Clinton, with 
 which he demanded the performance of military duty 
 L2 
 
126 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 from the persons who had been paroled ; and by means 
 of which, on departing from the province, he planted the 
 seeds of that revolting patriotism which finally over- 
 threw the authority he fondly imagined himself to have 
 successfully re-established. 
 
 Colonel Walton received his guests with his accus- 
 tomed urbanity : he received them alone ; and the eyes 
 of Colonel Proctor looked round the apartment inqui- 
 ringly, but in vain, as if he desired another presence. 
 His host understood the glance perfectly, for he had 
 not been blind to the frequent evidences of attachment 
 which his visiter had shown towards his daughter ; but 
 he took no heed of it ; and, with a lofty reserve of 
 manner, which greatly added to the awkwardness of 
 the commission which the Englishman came to exe- 
 cute, he simply confined himself to the occasional re- 
 mark — such only as was perfectly unavoidable with 
 one with whom politeness was habitual, and the pre- 
 dominant feeling at variance with it, the result of a 
 calm and carefully regulated principle. It was only 
 with a steady resolution, at last, that Proctor was en- 
 abled to bring his conversation into any thing lilie 
 consistency and order. He commenced, despairing of 
 any better opening, with the immediate matter which 
 he had in hand. 
 
 " Colonel Walton does not now visit Dorchester 
 so frequently as usual, nor does he often travel so far 
 as the city. May I ask if he has heard any late intel- 
 ligence of moment ?" 
 
 Walton looked inquiringly at his guest, as if to 
 gather from his features something of that intelligence 
 which his words seemed to presage. But the expres- 
 sion was unsatisfactory — perhaps that of care — so 
 Walton thought, and it gave him a hope of some 
 better fortune for his country than had usually attended 
 its arms heretofore. 
 
 " I have not, sir ; I ride but little now, and have not 
 been in Dorchester for a week. Of what intelligence 
 do you speak, sir ?" 
 
 " The proclamation of Sir Henry Clinton, sir — his 
 
THE PARTISAN. 127 
 
 proclamation on the subject of protections granted to the 
 mihtia of the province, those excepted made prisoners 
 in Charlestown." 
 
 Colonel Walton looked bewildered ; but still coldly, 
 and without a Avord, awaited the conclusion of Proctor's 
 statement. But the speaker paused for a moment, and 
 when he again spoke, the subject seemed to have been 
 somewhat changed. 
 
 " I am truly sorry, Colonel Walton, that it has not 
 been heretofore in your power to sympathize more 
 freely and openly with his majesty's arms in this war- 
 fare against his rebellious subjects." 
 
 " Stay, sir, if you please : these subjects, of whom 
 your phrase is rather unscrupulous, are my relatives 
 and countrymen ; and their sentiments on this rebellion 
 have been and are my own, though I have adopted the 
 expedient of a stern necessity, and in this have sus- 
 pended the active demonstration of principles which I 
 am nevertheless in no haste to forget, and do not sup- 
 press." 
 
 " Pardon me, sir ; you will do me grace to believe I 
 mean nothing of offence. However erring your thought, 
 I must respect it as honest ; but this respect does not 
 forbid that I should lament such a misfortune — a misfor- 
 tune, scarcely less so to his majesty than to you. It is 
 my sincere regret that you have heretofore found it less 
 than agreeable to unite your arms with those of our 
 army in the arrest of this unnatural struggle. The 
 commission proffered you by Sir Henry — " 
 
 " Was rejected, Colonel Proctor, and my opinions 
 then fairly avowed and seemingly respected. No 
 reference now to that subject need be made by either 
 of us." 
 
 " Yet am I called upon to make it now, Colonel 
 Walton ; and I do so with a hope that what is my 
 duty will not lose me, by its performance, the regard 
 of him to whom I speak. I am counselled to remind 
 you, sir, of that proposition by the present commander- 
 in-chief of his majesty's forces in the South, Earl 
 Cornwallis. The proclamation of Sir Hemy Clinton, 
 
128 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 to which I have alluded, is of such a nature as opens 
 fresh ground for the renewal of that offer ; and in this 
 packet I have instructions to that end, with a formal 
 enclosure of seal and signature, from his excellency 
 himself, which covers the commission to you, sir, in 
 your full rank, as engaged in the rebel army." 
 
 " You will keep it, sir ; again it is rejected. I can- 
 not lift arms against my countrymen ; and though I 
 readily understand the necessity which requires you to 
 make the tender, you will permit me to say, that I hold 
 it only an equivocal form of insult." 
 
 " Which, I again repeat. Colonel Walton, is foreign 
 to all intention on the part of the commander-in-chief. 
 For myself, I surely need make no such attestation. 
 He, sir, is persuaded to the offer simply as he knows 
 your worth and influence — he would secure your co- 
 operation in the good cause of loyalty, and at the same 
 time would soften what may seem the harsh features of 
 this proclamation." 
 
 " And what is this proclamation, sir ? Let me hear 
 that : the matter has been somewhat precipitately dis- 
 cussed in advance of the text." 
 
 " Surely, sir," said Proctor, eagerly, as the language 
 of Colonel Walton's last remarks left a hope in his 
 mind that he might think differently on the perusal of 
 the document, which he now took fi'om the hands of 
 his companion, Dickson — " surely, sir, and I hope you 
 will reconsider the resolve which I cannot help think- 
 ing precipitately made." 
 
 The listener simply bowed his head, and motioned 
 the other to proceed. Proctor obeyed ; and, unfolding 
 the instrument, proceeded to convey its contents to 
 the ears of the astonished Carolinian. As he read, the 
 cheek of Colonel Walton glowed like fire — his eye 
 kindled — his pulsation increased — and when the insidi- 
 ous decree, calling upon him to resume the arms which 
 he had cast aside when his countr)'^ needed them, and lift 
 them in behalf of her enemies, was fairly compre- 
 hended by his sense, his feelings had reached that 
 climax which despaired of all utterance. He started 
 
THE PARTISAN. 129 
 
 abruptly from his seat, and paced the room in strong 
 emotion ; then suddenly approaching Proctor, he took 
 the paper from his hand, and read it with unwaver- 
 ing attention. For a few moments after he had been 
 fully possessed of its contents, he made no remark ; 
 then, with a strong effort, suppressing as much as pos- 
 sible his aroused feelings, he addressed the Briton in 
 tones of inquiry which left it doubtful what, in reality, 
 those feelings were. 
 
 " And you desire that I should embrace this commis- 
 sion. Colonel Proctor, which, if I understand it, gives 
 me command in a service which this proclamation is to 
 insist upon — am I right ?" 
 
 " It is so, sir ; you are right. Here is a colonel's 
 commission under his majesty, with power to appoint 
 your own officers. Most gladly would I place it in 
 your hands." 
 
 " Sir — Colonel Proctor, this is the rankest villany — 
 villany and falsehood. By what right, sir, does Sir 
 Henry Clinton call upon us for military service, when 
 his terras of protection, granted by himself and Admiral 
 Arbuthnot, secured all those taking them in a condition 
 of neutrality 1" 
 
 " It is not for me, Colonel Walton," was Proctor's 
 reply — " it is not for me to discuss the commands of 
 my superiors. But does not the proclamation declare 
 these paroles to be null and void after the twentieth 1" 
 
 " True. But by what right does your superior vio- 
 late his compact ? Think you, sir, that the Carolinians 
 would have taken terms with invasion, the conditions 
 and maintenance of which have no better security 
 than the caprice of one of the parties ? Think you, sir, 
 that I, at least, would have been so weak and foolish ?" 
 
 " Perhaps, Colonel Walton — and I would not offend 
 by the suggestion," replied the other, with much mod- 
 eration — " perhaps, sir, it was a singular stretch of 
 indulgence to grant terms at all to rebellion." 
 
 " Ay, sir, you may call it by what name you please ; 
 but the terms, having been once offered and accepted, 
 were to the full as binding between the law and the 
 rebel as between the prince and dutiful subjects." 
 
130 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 " I may not argue, sir, the commands of my supe- 
 rior," rejoined the other, firmly, but calmly. 
 
 " I am not so bound, Colonel Proctor ; it is matter 
 for close argument and solemn deliberation with me, 
 and it will be long, sir, before I shall bring myself to 
 lift arms against my countrymen." 
 
 " There is a way of evading that necessity, Colonel 
 Walton," said Proctor, eagerly. 
 
 The other looked at him inquiringly, though he evi- 
 dently did not hope for much from the suggested alter- 
 native. 
 
 " That difficulty, sir, may be overcome : his majesty 
 has need of troops in the West Indies ; Lord Cornwal- 
 lis, with a due regard to the feelings of his dutiful 
 subjects of the colonies, has made arrangements for an 
 exchange of service. The Irish regiments will be 
 ■withdrawn from the West Indies, and those of loyal 
 Carolinians substituted. This frees you from all risk 
 of encountering with your friends and countrymen, 
 while at the same time it answers equally the purposes 
 of my commander." 
 
 The soldier by profession saw nothing degrading, 
 nothing servile in the proposed compromise. The 
 matter had a different aspect in the eyes of the southern 
 gentleman. The proposition which would send him 
 from his family and friends, to engage in conflict with 
 and to keep down those to whom he had no antipathy, 
 was scarcely less painful in its exactions than to take 
 up arms against his immediate neighbours. The sug- 
 gestion, too, which contemplated the substitution of 
 troops of foreign mercenaries, in the place of native 
 citizens, who were to be sent to other lands in the 
 same capacity, was inexpressibly offensive, as it di- 
 rectly made him an agent for the increase of that power 
 which aimed at the destruction of his people and his 
 principles. The sense of ignominy grew stronger in 
 his breast as he heard it, and he paced the apartment 
 in unmitigated disorder. 
 
 " I am no hireling. Colonel Proctor ; and the war, 
 hand to hand with my own sister's child, would be less 
 
THE PARTISAN. 131 
 
 shameful to me, however full of pain and misery, than 
 this alternative." 
 
 " There is no other, sir, that I know of." 
 
 " Ay, sir, but there is — there is another alternative, 
 Colonel Proctor; more than that, sir — there is a 
 remedy." 
 
 The eyes of the speaker flashed, and Proctor saw 
 tliat they rested upon the broadsword which hung upon 
 the wall before them. 
 
 " What is that, sir ?" inquired the Briton. 
 
 " In the sword, sir — in the strife — to take up arms — 
 to prepare for battle !" was the stern reply. 
 
 Either the other understood him not, with an obtuse- 
 ness not common with him, or he chose not to under- 
 stand him, as he replied — 
 
 " Why, that, sir, is what he seeks — it is what Lord 
 Cornwallis desires, and what, sir, would, permit me to 
 say, be to me, individually, the greatest pleasure. Your 
 co-operation here, sir, would do more towards quieting 
 discontent than any other influence." 
 
 The manner of AValton was unusually grave and 
 deliberate. 
 
 " You have mistaken me. Colonel Proctor. When 
 I spoke of taking up the sword, sir, I spoke of an alter- 
 native. I meant not to take up the sword to fight your 
 battles, but my own. If this necessity is to be fixed 
 upon me, sir, I shall have no loss to know my duty." 
 
 " Sir — Colonel Walton — beware ! As a British 
 officer, in his majesty's commission, I must not listen 
 to this language. Yon will remember, sir, that I am 
 in command of this garrison, and of the neighbouring 
 country — bound to repress every show of disaffection, 
 and with the power to determine, in the last resort, 
 without restraint, should my judgment hold it necessary. 
 I would not willingly be harsh ; and you will spare me, 
 sir, from hearing those sentiments uttered which become 
 not the ears of a loyal subject." 
 
 " I am a free man. Colonel Proctor — I would be one, 
 at least. Things I must call by their right names ; 
 and, as such, I do not hesitate to pronoimce this decree 
 
132 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 a most dishonest and criminal proceeding, which should 
 call up every honest hand in retribution. Sir Henry 
 Clinton has done this day what he will long be sorry 
 for." 
 
 " And what, permit me to add, Colonel Walton — 
 what I myself am sorry for. But it is not for me to 
 question the propriety of that which my duty calls upon 
 me to enforce." 
 
 " And pray, sir, what are the penalties of disobedience 
 to this mandate ?" 
 
 " Sequestration of property and imprisonment, at the 
 discretion of the several commandants of stations." 
 
 " Poor Kate ! — But it is well it is no worse." The 
 words fell unconsciously from the lips of the speaker : 
 he half-strode over the floor ; then, turning upon Proc- 
 tor, demanded once more to look upon the proclamation. 
 He again read it carefully. 
 
 " Twenty days, Colonel Proctor, I see, have been 
 allowed by Sir Henry Clinton for deliberation in a 
 matter which leaves so little choice. So much is 
 scarcely necessary ; you shall have my answer before 
 that time is over. Meanwhile, sir, let us not again 
 speak of the subject until that period." 
 
 " A painful subject, sir, which I shall gladly forbear," 
 said Proctor, rising ; " and I will hope, at the same time, 
 that Colonel Walton thinks not unliindly of the bearer of 
 troublesome intelligence." 
 
 " God forbid, sir ! I am no malignant. You have 
 done your duty with all tenderness, and I thank you 
 for it. Our enemies are not always so considerate." 
 
 " No enemies, I trust, sir. I am in hopes that, upon 
 reflection, you will not find it so difficult to reconcile 
 yourself to what, at the first blush, may seem so un- 
 pleasant." 
 
 " No more, sir — no more on the subject," was the 
 quick, but calm reply. " Will you do me grace, gen- 
 tlemen, in a glass of Madeira — some I can recom- 
 mend ?" 
 
 They drank ; and seeing through the window the 
 forms of the young ladies, Colonel Proctor proposed 
 
THE PAKTISAN. 133 
 
 to join them in their walk — a suggestion which his 
 entertainer answered by leading the way. In the 
 mean while, go we back to our old acquaintance, 
 Major Singleton, and his trusty coadjutor, Humphries. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " We meet ajfain — we meet again, once more, 
 We that were parted — happy that we meet, 
 More happy were we not to part again." 
 
 Keeping close in cover, Major Singleton and his 
 guide paused at length in the shelter of a gigantic oak, 
 that grew, with a hundred others, along the extreme 
 borders of the park-grounds. The position had been 
 judiciously taken, as it gave them an unobstructed 
 view of the Mansion House, the lawn in front, and a 
 portion of the adjacent garden. They were them- 
 selves partial occupants of the finest ornament of the 
 estate — the extensive grove of solemn oaks, with arms 
 branching out on every side, sufficient each of them 
 for the shelter of a troop. They rose, thickly placed 
 all around the dwelling, concentrating in a beautiful 
 defile upon the front, and thus continuing for the dis- 
 tance of a full mile until they gathered in mass upon the 
 main road of the country. In the rear they stretched 
 away singly or in groups, artfully disposed, but without 
 regularity, down to the very verge of the river, over 
 which many of them sloped with all their weight of 
 limbs and luxuriance upon them ; their long-droop- 
 ing beard of white moss hanging down mournfully, 
 and dipping into the river at every pressure of the 
 wind upon the boughs from which it depended. Under 
 one of these trees, the largest among them, the very 
 patriarch of the collection, the two adventurers paused; 
 Singleton throwing himself upon a cluster of the thick 
 roots which had risen above and now ran along the 
 
 Vol. I.— M 
 
134 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 surface, while his companion, like a true scout, wan- 
 dered off in other parts of the grove with the hope to 
 obtain intelligence, or at least to watch the movements 
 of the British officers, whose presence had prevented 
 their own approach to the dwelling. 
 
 As Singleton gazed around upon the prospect, the 
 whole scene grew fresh under his eye ; and though 
 many years had elapsed since, in the buoyancy and 
 thoughtlessness of boyhood, he had rambled over it, 
 yet gradually old acquaintances grew again familiar to 
 his glance. The tree he knew again under which he 
 had formerly played. The lawn spread freely onward, 
 as of old, over which, in sweet company, he had once 
 gambolled — the little clump of shrubs, here and there, 
 still grew, as he had once known them ; and his heart 
 grew softened amid its many cares, as his memory 
 brought to him those treasures of the past, which were 
 all his own when nothing of strife was in his fortunes. 
 What a god is memory, to keep in life — to endow with 
 an unslumbering vitality beyond that of our own nature 
 — its unconscious company — the things that seem only 
 born for its enjoyment — that have no tongues to make 
 themselves felt — and no claim upon it, only as they 
 have ministered, ignorant of their own value, to the 
 tastes and necessities of a superior ! How more than 
 dear — how valuable are our recollections ! How like 
 so many volumes, in which time has written on his 
 passage the history of the affections and the hopes. 
 Their names may be trampled upon in our passion, 
 blotted with our tears, thrown aside in our thoughtless- 
 ness, but nothing of their sacred traces may be oblit- 
 erated. They are with us, for good or for evil, for 
 ever! They last us when the father and the mother 
 of our boyhood are gone. They bring them back as in 
 infancy. We are again at their knee — we prattle at 
 their feet — we see them smile upon, and we know 
 that they love us. How dear is such an assurance ! 
 How sweetly, when the world has gone wrong with 
 us, when the lover is a heedless indifferent, when the 
 friend has been tried and found wanting, do they cluster 
 
THE PARTISAN. 135 
 
 before our eyes as if they knew our desire, and strove to 
 minister to our necessities. True, they call forth our 
 tears, but they take the weight from our hearts. They 
 ai'e never false to us, — bfetter, far better, were we 
 more frequently true to them ! 
 
 Such were the musings of Singleton, as, reclined 
 along the roots of the old tree, and sheltered by its 
 branches, his eye took in, and his memory revived, the 
 thousand scenes which he had once known of boyish 
 frolic, when life wore, if not a better aspect of hope 
 to his infant mind, at least a far less unpleasant show 
 of its many privations. Not a tree grew before him 
 which he did not remember for some little prank, or 
 incident ; and a thousand circumstances were linked 
 with the various objects that, once familiar, were still 
 unforgotten. Nothing seemed to have undergone a 
 change — nothing seemed to have been impaired ; the 
 touches of time upon the old oak had rather mellowed 
 into a fitting solemnity the aspect of that to which we 
 should scarcely ever look for a difi'erent expression. 
 While he yet mused, mingling in his mind the waters 
 of those SAveet and bitter thoughts which make up the 
 life-tide of the wide ocean of memory, the dusk of 
 evening came on, soft in its solemnity, and unoppressive 
 even in its gloom, under the sweet sky and unmolested 
 zephyr, casting its pleasant shadows along the edges 
 of the grove. The moon, at the same time rising 
 stealthily among the tree-tops in the east, was seeking 
 to pale her ineffectual fires while yet some traces of 
 the sun were still bright in waving lines and fragments 
 upon the opposite horizon. Along the river, which 
 had a beating murmur upon the low banks, the breeze 
 skimmed playfully and fresh ; and what with its plea- 
 sant chidings, the hum of the tree-tops bending be- 
 neath its embrace, and the still more certain appre- 
 ciation by his memory of the genius of the place, the 
 feeling of Singleton's bosom grew heightened in its 
 tone of melancholy, and a more passionate emphasis of 
 thought broke forth in his half-muttered soliloquy : — 
 
 "How I remember as I look; it is not only the 
 
136 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 woods and the grounds — the river and the spot — but the 
 very skies are there ; and that very wind, and the mur- 
 muring voices of the trees, are all the same. Nothing 
 — nothing changed. All as of old, but the one — all but 
 she — she, the laughing child, the confiding playmate ; 
 and not as now, the capricious woman — the imperi- 
 ous heart, scorning where she once soothed, denying 
 where she was once so happy to bestow. Such is her 
 change — a change which the speechless nature itself 
 rebukes. She recks not now, as of old, whether her 
 word carries with it the sting or the sweet — it is not now 
 in her thought to ask whether pain or pleasure fol- 
 lows the thoughtless slight or the scornful pleasantry. 
 The victim suffers, but she recks not of his grief. Yet 
 is she not an insensible — not proud, not scornful. Let 
 me do her justice in this. Let me not wrong her but 
 to think it. What but love, kindness, and all affection 
 is her tendance upon poor Emily. To her, is she not 
 all meekness, all love, all forbearance ? To my uncle, 
 too, no daughter could be more dutiful, more affec- 
 tionate, more solicitously watchful. To all, to all but 
 me ! To me, only, the proud, the capricious, the in- 
 different. And yet, none love her like me ; I must 
 love on in spite of pride, and scorn, and indifference — 
 I cannot choose but love her." 
 
 The musings of Major Singleton had for their ob- 
 ject his fair cousin, the beautiful Kate — according to 
 his account, a most capricious damsel in some re- 
 spects, though well enough, it would appear, in others. 
 We shall see for ourselves, as we proceed. Mean- 
 while, the return of Humphries from his scouting 
 expedition arrests our farther speculation upon this 
 topic, along with the soliloquy of our companion, 
 whose thoughts were now turned into another channel, 
 as he demanded from his lieutenant an account of his 
 discoveries. 
 
 " And what of the Britons, Humpliries 1 are they 
 yet in saddle, and when may we hope to approach the 
 dwelling ? I have not been used to skulk like a beateu 
 hound around the house of my mother's brother, not 
 
THE PARTISAN. 137 
 
 daring to come forward, and, I am free to confess, the 
 necessity makes me melancholy." 
 , " Very apt to do so, major, but you have to bear it 
 a little longer. The horses of the officers have been 
 brought up into the court, and the boy is in waiting, but 
 the riders have not made their appearance. I suppose 
 they stop for a last swig at the squire's Madeira. He 
 keeps a prime stock on hand, they say, though I've 
 never had the good fortune to taste any of it." 
 : " You shall do so to-night, Humphries, and grow 
 wiser, unless your British Colonel's potations exceed 
 a southern gentleman's capacity to meet him. But 
 you knew my uncle long before coming down from 
 Santee with him." 
 
 " To be sure I did, sir. I used to see him fre- 
 quently in the village ; but since the fall of Charlestown 
 he has kept close to the plantation. They say he 
 goes nowhere now, except it be down towards Cane- 
 acre and Horse Savannah, and along the Stonoe, where 
 he has acquaintance. I 'spose he has reason enough 
 to lie close, for he has too much wealth not to be an 
 object, and the tories keep a sharp look out on him. 
 Let him be suspected, and they'd have a pretty drive 
 at the old plate, and the negroes would soon be in the 
 Charlestown market, and then oft' to the West Indies. 
 Colonel Proctor is watchful too, and visits the squire 
 quite too frequently not to have some object." 
 
 " Said you not that Kate, his daughter, Miss Wal- 
 ton, was the object. Object enough, I should think, 
 for a hungry adventurer, sent out to make his fortune 
 in alliance with the very blood he seeks to shed. Kate 
 would be a pleasant acquisition for a younger son." 
 
 There was something of bitterness in the tone of 
 the speaker on this subject, which told somewhat of 
 the strength of those suspicions in his mind, to which, 
 without intending so much, Humphries, in a previous re- 
 mark, had actually given the direction. The latter saw 
 this, and with a deliberate tact, not so much the work 
 of his education as of a natural delicacy, careful not 
 tp startle the nice jealousies of Singleton, he hastened 
 M2 
 
138 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 to remove the impression which unwittingly he had 
 made. Without laying any stress upon what he said, 
 and with an expression of countenance the most indif- 
 ferent, he proceeded to reply as follows to the remark 
 of his companion : — 
 
 " Why, major, it would be a pleasant windfall to 
 Proctor could he get Miss Walton ; but there's a mighty 
 small chance of that, if folks say true. He goes there 
 often enough, that's certain, but he doesn't see her half 
 the time. She keeps her chamber or takes herself off 
 in the carriage when she hears of his coming; and his 
 chance is slim even to meet with her, let 'lone to get 
 her." 
 
 There was a tremulous lightness in Singleton's tone 
 as he spoke to this in oblique language — 
 
 " And yet Proctor has attractions, has he not ? I 
 have somewhere heard so— a fine person, good fea- 
 tures, even handsome. He is young, too." 
 
 " Few better looking men, sir, and making due al- 
 lowance for an enemy, a clever sort of fellow enough. 
 A good officer, too, that knows what he's about, and 
 quite a polite, fair-spoken gentleman." 
 
 " Indeed ! attractions quite enough, it would seem, 
 to persuade any young lady into civility. And yet, 
 you say — " 
 
 " Hist, major ! ' Talk of the ' Ask pardon, sir ; 
 
 but drop behind this bush. Here comes the lady her- 
 self with your sister, I believe, though I can't say at 
 this distance. They've been walking through the oaks, 
 and, as you see, Proctor keeps the house." 
 
 The two sank into cover as the young ladies came 
 through the grove, bending their way towards the very 
 spot where Singleton had been reclining. The place 
 was a favourite with all, and the ramble in this quarter 
 was quite a regular custom of the afternoon with the 
 fair heiress of Colonel Walton in particular. As she 
 approached, they saw the lofty carriage, the graceful 
 height, and the symmetrical person of our heroine — 
 her movement bespeaking for her that degree of con- 
 sideration which few ever looked upon her and withheld. 
 
THE PARTISAN. 139 
 
 Her dress was white, and simple, rather more in the 
 fashion of the present than of that time, when a lady's 
 body was hooped in like a ship's, by successive layers 
 of cordage and timber ; and when her headgear rose 
 into a pyramid, tower upon tower, a massy and Babel- 
 like structure, well stuccoed, to keep its place, by the 
 pastes and pomatums of the day. With her dress, 
 the nicest stickler for the proper simplicities of good 
 taste would have found no cause of complaint. Setting 
 off her figure to advantage, it did not unpleasantly 
 confine it ; and, as for her soft brown hair, it was free 
 to wanton in the winds, save where a strip of velvet 
 restrained it around her brows. Yet this simplicity 
 indicated no improper indifference on the part of the 
 lady to her personal appearance. On the contrary, it 
 was the art which concealed itself — the felicitous 
 taste, and the just estimate of a mind capable of con- 
 ceiving proper standards of fitness — that achieved so 
 much in the inexpressive yet attractive simplicity of 
 her costume. She knew that the elevated and intel- 
 lectual forehead needed no mountainous height of 
 hair for its proper effect. She compelled hers ac- 
 cordingly — simply parting it in front — to play capri- 
 ciously behind; and, "heedful of beauty, the same 
 woman still," the tresses that streamed so luxuriantly 
 about her neck, terminated in a hundred sylph-like 
 locks, exceedingly natural to behold, but which cost 
 her some half-hour's industrious application daily at 
 the toilet. Her eye was dark, richly brilliant in its 
 expression, though we look into its depths vainly for 
 that evidence of caprice and a wanton love of its ex- 
 ercise which Singleton had rather insisted upon as 
 her characteristic. Her face was finely formed, deli- 
 cately clear and white, slightly pale, but marked still 
 with an appearance of perfect health, which preserved 
 that just medium the eye of taste loves to rest upon, 
 in which the rose rises not into the gaudy richness of 
 mere vulgar health, and is yet sufficiently present to 
 keep the cheek from falling into the opposite extreme, 
 
140 THE Partisan. 
 
 the autumnal sickness of aspect, which, wanting in 
 the other, it is so very apt to assume. 
 
 Not so the companion beside her. Pale and 
 shadowy, the young girl, younger than herself, who 
 hung upon her arm, was one of the doomed victims of 
 consumption — that insidious death that sleeps with us, 
 and smiles with us — insidiously winds about us to lay 
 Avaste, and looks most lovely when most determined 
 to destroy. She was small and naturally slight of 
 person, but the artful disease under which she suffered 
 had made her more so ; and her wasted form, the 
 evident fatigue of her movement, not to speak of the 
 pain and difficulty of her breathing, were all so many 
 proofs that the tenure of her life was insecure, and her 
 term brief. Yet few were ever more ready for this 
 final trial than the 'young lady before us. The heart 
 of Emily Singleton was as pure as her eyes were 
 gentle. Her affections were true, and her thoughts 
 had been long since turned only to heaven. Her own 
 condition had never been concealed from her, nor was 
 she disposed to shrink from its consideration. Doomed 
 to a brief existence, she wasted not the hours in pain- 
 ful repinings at a fate so stern ; but still regarding it as 
 inevitable, she prepared as calmly as possible to en- 
 counter it. Fortunately, she had no strong passions 
 aroused and concentrated, binding her to the earth. 
 Love — that quick, angry, and eating fever of the mind — 
 had never touched the heart that, gentle from the first, 
 had been restrained from the indulgence of such a feel- 
 ing by the due consciousness of that destiny which 
 could not admit of its realization. Her mood had grown 
 loftier, sublimer, in due proportion with the check 
 which this consciousness had maintained upon her 
 sensibilities. She had become spiritualized in mind, 
 even as she had grown attenuated in person ;^and with 
 no murmurings, and but few regrets, her thoughts 
 were now only busied with those heavenward contem- 
 plations which take the pang from death, and disarm 
 parting of many of its privations, Singleton looked 
 
THE PARTISAN. 141 
 
 forth from his cover upon the form of his sister, while 
 the tears gathered in big drops into his eyes. 
 
 " So pure, so early doomed ! Oh, my sweet sister ! 
 — and when that comes, then am I indeed alone. 
 Poor Emily I" 
 
 Thus muttering to himself, as they came near, he 
 was about to emerge into sight and address them, 
 when, at the instant, Humphries caught his wrist, and 
 whispered — 
 
 " Stir not — move not. Proctor approaches, with 
 Colonel Walton and another. Our hope is in lying 
 close." 
 
 The ladies turned to meet the new-comers. The 
 two British officers seemed already acquainted with 
 them, since they nov/ advanced without any introduc- 
 tion. Proctor, with the ease of a well-bred gentleman, 
 placed himself beside the fair heiress of the place, to 
 whom he tendered his arm ; while his companion, Cap- 
 tain Dickson of the guards, made a similar tender to 
 Emily. The latter quietly took the arm of Dickson, 
 releasing that of her cousin at the same moment. 
 But Kate seemed not disposed to avail herself of 
 her example. Civilly declining Proctor's oifer, with 
 great composure she placed her arm within that of her 
 father, and the walk was continued. None of this had 
 escaped the notice of Major Singleton, whose place 
 of concealment was close beside the path ; and, without 
 taking too many liberties with his confidence, we may 
 say that his feelings were those of pleasure as he 
 witnessed this proceeding of his cousin. 
 
 " I take no aid from mine enemy. Colonel Proctor — 
 certainly never when I can do without it. You will 
 excuse me, therefore ; but I should regard your uni- 
 form as having received its unnaturally deep red from 
 the veins of my countrymen." 
 
 " So much a rebel as that. Miss Walton ! It is 
 well for us that the same spirit does not prevail among 
 your warriors. What would have been our chances of 
 success had such been the case ?" 
 
 " You think your conquest then complete, Colonel 
 
142 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 Proctor — you think that our people will always sleep 
 under oppression, and return you thanks for blows, 
 and homage for chastisement. Believe so — it is quite 
 as well." 
 
 " Do the ladies of Carolina all entertain this spirit, 
 Miss AValtou ? Will none of them take the aid of 
 the gallant knight that claims service at their hands ? 
 or is it, as I believe, that she stands alone in this rebel 
 attitude, an exception to her countrywomen V 
 
 " Nay ; I cannot now answer you this question. 
 We see few of my countrywomen or countrymen now, 
 thanks to our enemies ; and 1 have learned to forbear 
 asking what they need or desire. It is enough for me 
 that when I desire the arm of a good knight, I can have 
 him at need without resorting to that of an enemy !" 
 
 " Indeed !" replied the other, with some show of 
 curiosity — " indeed, you are fortunate ; but your ref- 
 erence is now to your father ?" 
 
 " My father? — Oh, no ! although, as now, I not un- 
 frequently claim his aid in preference to that of my foe." 
 " Why your foe. Miss Walton ? Have we not 
 brought you peace ? There is no sti;ife now in Caro- 
 lina." 
 
 " Peace, indeed ! the peace of fear, that is kept from 
 action by chains and the dread of punishment ! Call 
 you that peace ? It is a peace that is false and cannot 
 last. You will see." 
 
 " Be it as you say. Still we are no enemies — we 
 who serve your monarch as our own, and simply en- 
 force those laws which we are all bound in common to 
 obey." 
 
 " No monarch of mine, if you please. I care not a 
 straw for him, and don't understand, and never could, 
 the pretensions of your kings and princes, your divine 
 rights, and your established and immutable systems of 
 human government, humanity itself being mutable, 
 hourly undergoing change, and hourly in advance of 
 government." 
 
 " Why, this is to be a rebel ; but we shall not dis- 
 pute, Miss Walton. It is Avell for us, as I have said 
 
THE PARTISAN. 143 
 
 before, that such are not the sentiments of your ■wai'- 
 riors ; else, stimulated, as they must have been, by the 
 pleadings of lips like yours, they must have been in- 
 vincible. It will not indicate too much simplicity, if I 
 marvel that their utterance hitherto has availed so little 
 in bringing your men into the field. We have not 
 easily found our foes in a country in which, indeed, it 
 is our chief desire to find friends only." 
 
 " It follows from this, Colonel Proctor, that there is 
 only so much more safety for his majesty's more loyal 
 subjects." 
 
 " You are incorrigible. Miss Walton." 
 
 " No, sir ; only too indulgent — too like my country- 
 men — dreading the combat which I yet see is a neces- 
 sity." 
 
 " If so, why has there been so little opposition ?" 
 
 " Perhaps, sir, you will not always ask the question." 
 
 "You still have hopes, then, of the rebel cause." 
 
 " My country's cause, Colonel Proctor, if you please. 
 I still have hopes ; and I trust that his majesty's arms 
 may not long have the regret of continuing a warfare 
 so little stimulating to their enterprise, and so little 
 calculated to yield them honour." 
 
 The British colonel bowed at the equivocal senti- 
 ment, and after a pause of a few moments the lady 
 proceeded — 
 
 " And yet, Colonel Proctor, not to speak too freely 
 of matters of which my sex can know so little, I must 
 say, knowing as I do the spirit of some among my 
 countrymen — I must say, it has greatly surprised me 
 that your conquests should have been usually so easy." 
 
 " That need not surprise you. Miss Walton ; you 
 remember that ours are British soldiers" — smiling, 
 and with a bow, was the response of the colonel. 
 
 " By which I am to understand, on the authority of 
 one of the parties, its own invincibility. It is with 
 your corps, I believe, that the sentiment runs, though 
 they do not — ' we never retreat, we die.' Unquestion- 
 able authority, surely ; and it may be that such is the 
 case. Few persons think more highly of British val- 
 
144 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 lour than the Carolinians. Father, you, I know, think 
 extravagantly of it ; and cousin Robert, too : I have 
 heard you both speak in terms which fully sustain you. 
 Colonel Proctor, in what might be called the self-com- 
 plaisance which just now assigned the cause of your 
 success." 
 
 Colouring somewhat, and with a grave tone of voice, 
 that was not his wont, Colonel Proctor replied — 
 
 " There is truth in what I have told you, Miss 
 Walton ; the British soldier fights with a perfect faith 
 in his invincibility, and this faith enables him to realize 
 it. The first lesson of the good officer is to prepare 
 the minds of his men with this confidence, not only in 
 their own valour, but in their own good fortune." 
 
 " And yet, Colonel Proctor, I am not so sure that the 
 brave young men I have known, such as cousin Rob- 
 ert — the major, for he is a major, father — so Emily 
 says — I am not so sure that they will fight the less 
 against you on that account. Robert I know too well 
 to believe that he has any fears, though he thinks as 
 highly of British valour as anybody else." 
 h " Who is this Robert, Miss Walton, of whom you 
 appear to think so highly ?" 
 
 There was something of pique in the manner and 
 language of Proctor as he made the inquiry, and with 
 a singular change in her own manner, in which she 
 took her loftiest attitude and looked her sternest ex- 
 pression, Katharine Walton replied — 
 
 " A relative, sir, a near relative ; Robert Singleton — 
 Major Robert Singleton, I should say — a gentleman in 
 the commission of Governor Rutledge." 
 
 " Ha ! a major, too, and in the rebel army !" said 
 the other. " Well, Miss Walton, I may have the 
 honour, and hope some day to have the pleasure, to 
 meet with your cousin." 
 
 The manner of the speaker was respectful, but 
 there was a something of sarcasm — so Katharine 
 thought — in his tones, and her reply was immediate. 
 
 " We need say nothing of the pleasure to either 
 p^irty ftom the meeting, Colonel Proctor ; but if you do 
 
THE PARTISAN. 145 
 
 meet with him, knowing Robert as I do, you will most 
 probably, if you have time, remember this conversa- 
 tion." 
 
 Proctor bit his lip. He could not misunderstand the 
 sinister meaning of her reply, but he said nothing ; 
 and Colonel Walton, who had striven to check the 
 conversation at moments when he became conscious 
 of its tenor, now gladly engaged his guest on other 
 and more legitimate topics. He had been abstracted 
 during much of the time occupied by his daughter and 
 Proctor in their rather brusque dialogue ; but even in 
 the more spirited portions of it, nothing was said by 
 the maiden that was not a familiar sentiment in the 
 mouths of those Carolinian ladies, who were proud to 
 share with their countrymen in the opprobrious epithet 
 of rebel, conferred on them in no stinted terms by their 
 invaders. Meanwhile Major Singleton, in his cover, 
 to whose ears portions of the dialogue had come, was 
 no little gladdened by what he had heard, and could not 
 forbear muttering to himself — " Now, bless the girl ! 
 she is a jewel of a thousand." But the dark was now 
 rapidly settling down upon the spot, and the dews, be- 
 ginning to fall, warned Kate of her duty to her invalid 
 cousin. Withdrawing her arm from her father, she 
 approached Emily, and reminded her of the propriety 
 of returning to the dwelling. Her feeble lips parted 
 in a murmured reply, all gentleness and. dependence — 
 
 " Yes, Kate, you are right. I have been wishing it, 
 for I am rather tired. Do fix this handkerchief, cousin, 
 higher and close to my neck — there, that will do." 
 
 She still retained Dickson's arm, while she passed 
 one of her hands through that of her cousin. In this 
 manner, followed by Colonels Walton and Proctor at 
 a little distance, the party moved away and returned to 
 the dwelling. Glad of his release from the close im- 
 prisonment of his bush, the major now came forward 
 with Humphries, who, after a brief interval, stole along 
 by the inner fence, in the close shadow of the trees, 
 and with cautious movement reached a position which 
 enabled him to see when the British officers took their 
 
 Vol. I.— N 
 
146 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 departure. His delay to return, though not long pro- 
 tracted, for the guests only waited to see the ladies 
 safely seated and to make their adieus, was, however, 
 an age to his companion. Singleton was impatient to 
 present himself to his fair cousin, whose dialogue with 
 Proctor had given him all the gratification which a 
 lover must always feel, who hears from the lips of her 
 he loves, not only those sentiments which his own 
 sense approves, but the general language of regard for 
 himself, even so slight and passing as that which had 
 fallen from his cousin in reference to him. She had 
 spoken in a tone and manner which was common, in- 
 deed, to the better informed, the more elevated and 
 refined of the Carolina ladies at that period ; when, 
 as full of patriotic daring as its sons, they warmed and 
 stimulated their adventurous courage, and undertook 
 missions of peril and privation, which are now on re- 
 cord in honourable evidence of their fearlessness, sen- 
 sibility, and love of country. It was not long after this, 
 when his trusty lieutenant returned to him, giving him 
 the pleasing intelligence of the departure of Proctor 
 and his companion. Waiting for no messenger, Sin- 
 gleton at once hurried to the dwelling of his uncle, and 
 leaving Humphries in the hall, in the passage-way 
 leading to the upper apartments the first person he met 
 was Kate. 
 
 " Why Robert, cousin Robert, is it you !" 
 The heart of the youth had been so much warmed 
 towards her by what he had heard in the previous dia- 
 logue, that his manner and language had in them much 
 more of passionate warmth than was altogether custom- 
 ary even with him. 
 
 " Dear, dear Kate, how I rejoice to see you !" 
 "Bless me, cousin, how affectionate you have be- 
 come all at once ! There's no end to you — there — have 
 done with your squeezing. Hold my hand quietly, as 
 if you had no wish to carry off the fingers, and I will 
 conduct you to your sister." 
 " And Emily V 
 He urged the question in an under-totie, and the eyes 
 
THE PARTISAN. 147 
 
 of his cousin were filled with tears as she replied 
 hastily — 
 
 " Is nigher heaven every day — but come." 
 
 As they walked to an inner apartment, he told her 
 of his previous concealment, and the partial use he 
 had made of his ears while her chat with Proctor had 
 been going on. 
 
 " And you heard — what ?" 
 
 " Not much, Kate ; only that you have not deserted 
 your country yet, when so many are traitors to her." 
 
 The light was not sufficient to enable him to see it, 
 but there was a rich flush upon the cheek of his com- 
 panion as he repeated some portions of the conversa- 
 tion he had heard, which would have made him better 
 satisfied that her capriciousness was not so very per- 
 manent in its nature. In a few moments they were in 
 the apartment where, extended upon a sofa, lay the 
 slight and shadowy person of Emily Singleton. Her 
 brother was beside her in an instant, and she was 
 wrapped in his arms. 
 
 " Emily — dear, dear sister — my only — my all !" he 
 exclaimed, as he pressed his lips warmly upon her 
 cheek. 
 
 " Dear Robert, you are come ! I am glad, but release 
 me now — there." 
 
 She breathed more freely, released from his embrace, 
 and he then gazed upon her with a painful sort of 
 pleasure, her look was so clear, so dazzling, so spirit- 
 ual, so unnaturally life-like. 
 
 " Sit by me," she said. He drew a low bench, and 
 while he took his seat upon it, Katharine left the 
 room. Emily put her hand into that of her brother, 
 and looked into his face without speaking for several 
 minutes. His voice, too, was husky when he spoke, 
 so that, when his cousin had returned to the apartment, 
 though all feelings between them had been perfectly 
 understood, but few words had been said. 
 
 " Sit closer, brother — sit," she said to him, fondly, 
 and motioned him to draw the bench beside her. 
 He did so, and in her feeble tones many were the 
 
148 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 questions which the dying girl addressed to her com- 
 panion. All the domestic associations of her home 
 on the Santee — the home of her childhood and its 
 pleasures, when she had hopes and dreams of the fu- 
 ture, and disease had not yet shown upon her sys- 
 tem. To these questions his answers were made 
 with difficulty ; many things had occuri'ed, since her 
 departure, which would have been too trying for her 
 to hear. She found his replies unsatisfactory, there- 
 fore, and she pressed them almost reproachfully — 
 
 " And you have told me nothing of old mommer* 
 Robert : is she not well \ does she not miss me ? 
 did she not wish to come 1 And Frill, the pointer — 
 the poor dog — I wonder who feeds him now. I wish 
 you could have brought mommer with you, Robert — I 
 should like to have her attend on me, she knows my 
 ways and wishes so much better than anybody else. 
 I should not want her long." And though she con- 
 cluded her desire with a reference to her approaching 
 fate, the sigh which followed was inaudible to her 
 brother. 
 
 " But you are well attended here, Emily, my dear. 
 Cousin Kate — " 
 
 " Is a sister, and all that I could desire, and I am as 
 well attended as I could be anywhere ; but it is thus that 
 we repine. I only wished for mommer, as we wish 
 for an old-time prospect which has grown so familiar 
 to our eyes that it seems to form a part of the sight : 
 so, indeed, though every thing is beautiful and delight- 
 
 * In all native Carolina families there are two or more favourite 
 domestic slaves, between whom and their owners there exists a 
 degree of regard which does not fall short in its character and effects 
 of the most endearing relationship. One of these persons is usually 
 the negro woman who has charge of the children from their infancy. 
 The word " mommer" probably a corruption of mamma, is that by 
 which they commonly distinguish her ; and it is not unusual to hear 
 the word thus employed in reference to the ancient nurse, by those 
 who have long since become parents themselves. The male negro 
 who teaches young master to ride, and whose common duty it is to 
 attend upon him, is, in the same spirit, styled " daddy" by his unso- 
 phisticated pupil. Nor is this a partial fact. Perhaps it would be 
 perfectly safe to assert, that there are at least two or three negroes 
 in every Carolina family, between whom and their owners this agree- 
 able relationship exists. 
 
THE PARTISAN. 149 
 
 ful about ' The Oaks,' I still long to ramble over our 
 old walks among the ' Hills.' " 
 
 The brow of Singleton blackened as she thus pass- 
 ingly alluded to the beautiful estate of his fathers, but 
 he said nothing, and she proceeded in her inquiries — 
 
 " And the garden, Robert — my garden, you know. 
 Do, when you go back, see that Luke keeps the box 
 trimmed, and the hedge ; the morning I left it, it looked 
 very luxuriant. I was too hurried to give him orders, 
 but do you attend to it when you return. He is quite 
 too apt to leave it to itself." 
 
 There was much in these simple matters to distress 
 her brother, of which she was fortunately ignorant. 
 How could he say to the dying girl, that her mommer, 
 severely beaten by the tories, had fled into the swamps 
 for shelter? — that her favourite dog. Frill, had been 
 shot down, as he ran, by the same brutal wretches ? — 
 that the mansion-house of her parents, her favourite 
 garden, had been devastated by fire, applied by the 
 same cruel hands 1 — that Luke the gardener, and all 
 the slaves who remained unstolen, had fled for safety 
 into the thick recesses of the Santee ? — how could he 
 tell her this ? The ruin which had harrowed his own soul 
 almost to madness, would have been instant death to 
 her ; and though the tears were with difficulty kept 
 back from his eyes, he replied calmly, and with suf- 
 ficient evasion successfully to deceive the sufferer. 
 At this moment Katharine re-entered the apartment, 
 and relieved him by her presence. He rose from the 
 bench, and prepared to attend upon his uncle, who as 
 yet remained in his chamber unapprized of his arrival. 
 He bent down, and his lips pressed once more upon 
 the brow of his sister. She put her hand into his, 
 and looked into his face for several minutes without 
 speaking ; and that look — so pure, so bright, so fond — 
 so becoming of heaven, yet so hopeless of earth — he 
 could bear the gaze no longer ; the emotion rose shiv- 
 eringly in his soul — the tears could be no longer kept 
 from gushing forth, and he hurried from her sight to 
 conceal them. 
 
150 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 " Oh, why — why," he said, in a burst of passionate 
 emotion, as he hurried below — " wherefore, great 
 Father of Mercies, wherefore is this doom ? Why 
 should the good and the beautiful so early perish — why 
 should they perish at all 1 Sad, sad, that the creature 
 so made to love and be beloved, should have lived in 
 affliction, and died without having the feelings once ex- 
 ercised, which in it have been so sweet and innocent. 
 Even death is beautiful and soft, seen in her eyes, and 
 gathering in words that come from her lips like the 
 dropping of so much music from heaven. Poor Emily !" 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " The time is come ; thy chances of escape 
 Grow narrow, and thou hast, to save thyself, 
 But one resolve. Take oath with us and live." 
 
 Colonel Walton, upon the departure of his guests, 
 retired to an inner apartment. His spirits, depressed 
 enough before, were now considerably more so. Min- 
 gled feelings were at strife in his bosom — doubts and 
 fears, hopes and misgivings — a sense of degradation 
 — a more unpleasant consciousness of shame. The 
 difficulties of his situation grew and gathered before 
 •his eyes the more he surveyed them ; they called for 
 deliberate thought, yet they also demanded early and 
 seasonable determination. The time allowed him for 
 decision by the ruling powers was brief, and the mat- 
 ter to be decided involved, in addition to the personal 
 risks of life and liberty, the probable forfeiture of an 
 immense estate, and the beggary, in consequence, of 
 an only and beloved daughter. To save these, in part, 
 from what he conceived otherwise to be inevitable 
 ruin, he had originally laid aside his arms. He was 
 now taught, in the strongest lights, the error of which 
 he had been guilty in yielding so readily to circum- 
 
THE PARTISAN. 151 
 
 Stances — placing himself so completely, not only in 
 the power of his enemy, but in the wrong ; in having 
 foregone that fine sense of national honour, without 
 which the citizen merits not the name, and has no 
 real claim upon the protection of his country. This 
 sacrifice he had made without realizing, in its place, 
 that very security of person and property, its pledged 
 equivalent, which had been the price of its surrender. 
 Bitterly, in that moment of self-examination, did he re- 
 proach himself with the unmanly error. Truly did 
 he feel, by his present situation, that he who submits 
 to tyranny arms it ; and by not opposing it, weakens 
 that power, — better principled, or with better courage 
 than himself, — which battles with it to the last. 
 
 The exigency grew more and more involved the 
 more he thought upon it. He could see but one alter- 
 native left him, — that which he had already hinted to 
 Colonel Proctor, of again lifting his sword ; and, if com- 
 pelled to use it, of doing so for the only cause which 
 he could consider legitimate — that of his country. Yet, 
 how hopeless, how rash and ill-advised, at that moment, 
 seemed the adoption of such an alternative ! The 
 people of the colony had all submitted ; so it seemed, 
 at least, in the absence of all opposition to the advan- 
 cing armies of the British. They scoured the country 
 on every side. They planted posts, the better to over- 
 awe thef disaffected and confirm their conquests, in 
 every conspicuous or populous region ; and though 
 tyrannizing everywhere with reckless rule and a rod 
 of iron, the people seemed to prefer a lot so burden- 
 some and wretched, rather than exchange it for a strife 
 having not one solitary hope to recommend it. Such 
 was the condition of things in Carolina at the time of 
 which we write, just after the parting proclamation of 
 Sir Henry Clinton, when, upon transferring the south- 
 ern command to Lord Cornvvallis, he adopted this mode 
 of strengthening his successor by the employment of 
 the native militia. Colonel Walton was not a coward, 
 but he deliberated carefully upon all adventure involv- 
 ing peril in its progress. The circumstances in which 
 
153 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 the colony stood at that period were too obvious not to 
 be considered ; and desperate and degrading as were 
 the requirements of the proclamation, he saw no mode 
 of escape from them. What if he drew the sword 1 
 would he not draw it alone 1 Where should he find 
 support ? To what spot should he turn — where strike 
 — where make head against the enemy ? — where, ex- 
 cept in the remoter colonies, where a doubtful struggle 
 was still maintained — doubtful in its results, and only 
 exposing its defenders there to the same fate he was 
 now about to encounter in his native soil 1 The pros- 
 pect grew brighter a short time after, when Sumter 
 came plunging down from North Carolina with the 
 fierce rapidity of flame ; when Marion emerged from 
 his swamps on the Peedee and Black River, with the 
 subtle certainty which belongs to skill and caution 
 mingled with determined and fearless valour ; and 
 when, like our hero Major Singleton, a hundred brave 
 young partisan leaders, starting suddenly up, with their 
 little squads, on every side throughout the country, 
 prepared to take terrible vengeance for the thousand 
 wantonly inflicted sufferings which their friends and 
 families had been made to bear at the hands of their 
 enemies. 
 
 Leaving his companion, Humphries, comfortably 
 cared for in the hall, along with Miss Barbara Walton, 
 the maiden sister of the colonel. Major Singleton pro- 
 ceeded at once to the apartment where his uncle con- 
 tinued to chafe in his many bewilderments of situation. 
 He found him pacing hurriedly along the room, his 
 strides duly increasing in length with the increasing 
 confusion of his thoughts. These occasionally found 
 their way to his lips in soliloquizing musings, and now 
 and then took on them a shape of passionate denunci- 
 ation. Too much absorbed for the time to notice the 
 approach of his nephew,, he continued to mutter over 
 his discontents, and in this way conveyed to the major 
 a knowledge of his precise feelings. Familiar as he 
 was with his uncle's character, Major Singleton had 
 properly estimated the effect upon him of Clinton's 
 
THE PARTISAN. 153 
 
 proclamation, and he now came forward seasonably to 
 his assistance. The colonel turned as he drew nigh, 
 and for a moment the pleasurable emotion with which 
 he met the child of his sister, and one who had long 
 been a very great favourite with himself, drove away 
 many of the troublesome thoughts which had been 
 busy with his mind. 
 
 " Ah, Robert ! — my dear boy ! when did you arrive, 
 and how ?" 
 
 " On horseback, sir. I reached Dorchester yester- 
 day." 
 
 " Indeed ! so long — and only now a visiter of ' The 
 Oaks V You surely mean to lodge with us, Robert ?" 
 
 " Thank you, uncle ; but that I dare not do. I 
 should not feel myself altogether safe here." 
 
 " Not safe in my house ! What mean you, nephew 1 
 Whence the danger — what have you to fear ?" 
 
 " Nothing to fear, if I avoid the danger. You forget, 
 sir, that I have not the security of British favour — I 
 have not the talisman of Clinton's protection — and if 
 suspected to be Major Singleton, I should risk the rope 
 as a rebel." 
 
 " True, true — but how left you things at Santee ? 
 What are the prospects of a crop ?" 
 
 " Such as the storm leaves us, good uncle. The 
 tories have been sowing fire in my fields, and left it to 
 ripen in lieu of corn and provender." 
 
 " God bless me, my son ! — how was that ?" 
 
 " They suspected me, hearing that I was from home 
 — made free with my plate, burnt the mansion, barn, 
 and a few other of the buildings, drove the negroes 
 into the swamp, and sent their horses first, and then 
 the fire, into the cornfields. They have done some 
 business tliere after their usual fashion." 
 
 The colonel strode over the floor, his hands upon his 
 brows, speechless for a time, but looking his deep 
 interest in the narrative he had heard, probably with 
 more earnestness, as he darkly saw the destiny of his 
 own fine dwelling and plantation in it. His nephew 
 
154 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 surveyed him with exemplary composure before he 
 continued the dialogue. 
 
 " Yes ; it was fortunate that poor Emily came away 
 in season. A week later, and Heaven only knows 
 what might have been her suflerings at the hands of 
 the wretches." 
 
 " And where is this to end, Robert ? What is to be 
 done ? Are we to have no relief from Congress 1 — 
 will Washington do nothing for us ?" 
 
 " Can you do nothing for Washington ? Methinks, 
 uncle, Hercules might give you some advice quite as 
 fitting as that he gave to the wagoner. There is no 
 helping one's neighbour to freedom. Men must make 
 themselves free — they must have the will for it. The 
 laws and the strong arm, unless they grow out of their 
 own will, never yet* gave, and never will give, any 
 people their liberty. Have you not thought of this, 
 sir, before ?" 
 
 " Why, what would you have us do ? — what can we 
 do, hemmed in as we are, wanting arms and ammuni- 
 tion, and with a superior force watching us ?" 
 
 " Do ! — ay, you may well ask what can you do. 
 What has anybody ever yet done, that set forth by asking 
 such a question 1 But come, we will to supper first ; 
 there stands our summoner. We will try aunt Bar- 
 bara's coffee, of which I have an old memory, and 
 after that we will talk of what we can do in this mat- 
 ter. Coffee is a good stimulant, that wonderfully helps 
 one's courage." 
 
 Following the black, who had thrice summoned 
 them without receiving any attention, they descended 
 to the supper-table, spread out after the southern 
 fashion, with the hundred dainties of the region, — rice 
 waffles and johnny-cake, hominy, and those delicacies 
 of the pantry in the shape of sweetmeats and pre- 
 serves, which speak of a wholesome household econ- 
 omy, the fashion of which is not yet gone from the 
 same neighbourhood. There, presiding in all the dig- 
 nity of starched coif, ruff, and wimple, sat stiffly the 
 antique person of Miss Barbara Walton, the maiden 
 
THE PARTISAN. 155 
 
 sister of the colonel ; there, also, in his homespun coat 
 turned up at the sleeves, and with hands that were not 
 idle, our old acquaintance, Humphries, listening pa- 
 tiently, all the while, to a bitter complaint of Miss 
 Barbara about the diminished and daily diminishing 
 number of her brother's best cows, the loss of which 
 could only be ascribed to the tories. Beside him sat 
 the fair Kate Walton, amused with the efforts which 
 Humphries made, while equally desirous to do the sup- 
 per justice, and to appear attentive to the ancient lady. 
 A.nd there, reclining on a sofa at some little distance 
 from the table, lay the attenuated figure of Emily Sin- 
 gleton — pale as a white rose, and, as if her thoughts 
 were fast claiming kindred with heaven, almost as silent 
 as one. Major Singleton had a seat assigned him front- 
 ing his cousin ; and the little chit-chat which followed 
 his and his uncle's entrance was duly suspended with 
 the progress of the repast. To travellers who had 
 toiled so much during the day as Singleton and his 
 lieutenant, the supper was an item of importance, and 
 we need not say that it received full justice at their 
 hands. It was only when roused into consciousness 
 by the very absence of all speech around thern, that 
 the soldiers looked up, in a brief pause in their pro- 
 gress, and found that they only had been busy. This 
 fact offered no stop, however, to their continued indus- 
 try — to that of Humphries, at least. 
 
 " Them are mighty nice waffles, now, major ; they'd 
 please you, I reckon." 
 
 Cuffee, one of the black waiters, with the proper 
 instinct of a good house-servant, at once placed the 
 dish before the speaker himself, and his plate received 
 a new supply. Singleton kept him company, and the 
 host trifled with his coffee, in order to do the same. 
 Tea was anti-republican then, and only the tories 
 drank it. Finding that a cessation had really taken 
 place. Miss Barbara commenced her interrogatories, 
 which, with sundry others put by his cousin Kate, 
 Major Singleton soon answered. These matters, how- 
 ever, chiefly concerned old friends and acquaintances, 
 
 ■i^ 
 
156 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 little domestic anecdotes, and such other subjects as 
 the ladies usually delight to engage in. More serious 
 thoughts were in Colonel Walton's mind, and his ques- 
 tions had reference to the public and to the country — 
 the war and its prospects. 
 
 " And now, Robert, your news, your news. You 
 look as if you had much more in your budget of far 
 more importance. Pray, out with it, and refresh us. 
 We are only half alive here, good nephew." 
 
 " Do you live at all here, uncle, and how ? How 
 much breath is j)ermitted you by your masters for your 
 daily allowance ? and, by-the-way, the next question 
 naturally is — how go on the confiscations? You still 
 keep ' The Oaks,' I see ; but how long — how long ?" 
 
 The nephew had touched the key to a harsh note ; 
 and bitter, indeed, was the tone and manner of Colonel 
 Walton, as he replied — 
 
 " Ay, how long — how long, indeed, am I to keep in 
 the home of my fathers — the old barony, one of the 
 very first in the colony ? God only knows how soon 
 the court of sequestration will find it better suited to a 
 stranger rule ; and 1 must prepare myself, I suppose, 
 for some such change. I cannot hope to escape very 
 long, when so many sufTer confiscation around me." 
 
 "Fear not for ' The Oaks,' uncle, so long as you 
 keep cool, submit, swear freely, and subscribe humbly. 
 Send now and then a trim present of venison and tur- 
 key to the captain's quarters, and occasionally volun- 
 teer to hang a poor countiyraan, who loves war to 
 the knife better than degradation, lo the chain. There 
 can be no difficulty in keeping ' The Oaks,' uncle, if 
 you only continue to keep your temper." 
 
 " Nay, Robert, sarcasm is unnecessary now, and 
 with me : I need no reproaches of yours to make me 
 feel in this matter." 
 
 " What, uncle, are you in that vein ? Have your 
 eyes been opened to the light at last ?" 
 
 " Somewhat, Robert — but a truce to this for the 
 present. Let us have your intelligence from Santee. 
 They talk here of some risings in that quarter, but we 
 
THE PART1SA.N. 157 
 
 have no particulars, and know notliing of the success 
 of either party. There is also some story of approach- 
 ing continentals. Has Congress really given us an 
 army ? and who is to command it ? Speak, boy ; out 
 with your budget." 
 
 " Thank you, good mine uncle ; but how know I 
 that I unfold my budget to a friend, and not to an en- 
 emy ? What security do you give me that I talk not 
 with a devout and loyal subject of his majesty — so 
 very much a lover of the divine right of kings, that he 
 would freely lend a hand to run up his own nephew 
 to a swinging bough, the better to compel the same 
 faith in others V 
 
 " Pshaw ! Robert, you speak idly : you mean not to 
 suppose me a tory ?" The brow of Colonel Walton 
 darkened awfully as he spoke. 
 
 " I have little faith in neutrals," was the calm reply ; 
 " I hold to the goodly whig proverb, ' He who is not 
 for me, is against me.' Pardon m.e, therefore, uncle, 
 if I prefer — 1 who am a whig — to speak to you, who 
 are neither whig nor Englishman, after such a fashion 
 as shall not make you the keeper of unnecessary se- 
 crets, and expose a good cause to overthrow, and its 
 friends to injury." 
 
 The taunt thus uttered with a most provoking and 
 biting dryness of phrase, operated strongly upon the 
 mind of the colonel, already acted upon, in no small 
 degree, by his own previous rebukings of conscience to 
 the same effect. He exclaimed, bitterly, as, rising from 
 the supper-table, he strode away under the momentary 
 impulse — 
 
 "Ay, by heaven ! but your words are true. Who 
 should esteem the neutral, when his country is in dan- 
 ger, and when her people are writhing under oppres- 
 sion ] True, though bitter — more bitter, as it is true. 
 Robert Singleton, thou hast given me a keen stroke, 
 boy, but I have deserved it. Thou hast spoken nothing 
 but the truth." 
 
 " Now, indeed, uncle, I rejoice to see you, and in 
 this humour. You have felt the stroke at last, but it 
 
 Vol. I.— 
 
158 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 is not my speech that has done it, uncle jof mine. Il 
 is the proclamation of Sir Henry Clinton." 
 
 The youth fixed his eye keenly, as he spoke, upon 
 the face of Colonel Walton, while his glance indicated 
 a sort of triumphant joy, finely contrasted with the dis- 
 quietude and vexing indignation sti-ongly legible upon 
 the face of his imcle. 
 
 " You are right there, too, Robert. I confess not^i 
 to have thought so seriously upon this matter — not, 
 certainly, so much to the point — as after hearing the 
 contents of that dishonourable instrument of Sir Henry 
 Clinton — God curse him for it !" 
 
 " God bless him for it, I say, if for nothing else that 
 he has done," immediately rejoined the nephew. " My 
 prayers have been heard in that ; and this proclamation 
 of the tyi-ant is the very best thing that he could have 
 done for our cause and country, and the very thing that 
 I have most prayed for." 
 
 " Indeed ! Major Singleton, you surprise me. What 
 should there be so very grateful to you — so worthy of 
 your prayers and acknowledgment — in this proceeding 
 of Sir Henry Clinton ?" inquired the other, with some- 
 thing more of stiffness and hauteur in his manner. 
 
 " Much, Colonel Walton, very much. As a true 
 patriot, and a lover of his country at every hazard, I 
 prayed that the time might soon come, when the 
 oppressor should put his foot — ay, and the foot of his 
 menials, too — on the necks of those selfish or spiritless, 
 those too little wise, or too little honourable, who have 
 been so very ready to hug his knee, and yield up to a 
 base love for security their manly character and honest 
 independence. Verily, they meet with their reward. 
 Let them feel the scourge and the chain, until, beaten 
 and degraded, the stern necessity shall stimulate them 
 to the duties they have so neglected. I rejoice in their 
 desperation — I rejoice when I hear them groan beneath 
 the oppression — not only because they merit such re- 
 ward but because it makes them stronger in our cause." 
 
 "How know you that ?" quickly said the other. 
 
 *' How know I that ? Let me answer that question 
 
THE PARTISAN. 159 
 
 by another more direct. AVill Colonel Walton be able 
 any longer to keep the quiet security of his plantation, 
 to hug his grounds, save his crops, and keep his ne- 
 groes from the West Indies, without military service — 
 active military service, and against his countrymen 
 too — against his avowed principles V 
 
 The colonel strode the room impatiently. The 
 other continued — 
 
 " No, no, good uncle, you have no help. Earl 
 Cornwallis compels you to your duty. You miist 
 buckle on the sword — you must take up arms for, or 
 against, your people, and in either case at the expense 
 of all that comfortable quiet for which you have already 
 made quite too many sacrifices. I know you too well 
 to suppose that you can fight against our people — your 
 people ; and I am glad therefore that you are forced 
 into the field. How many thousands are in your con- 
 dition ! how many that look up to j^ou, influenced by 
 your example ! AVill these not be be moved in like 
 manner and by like necessities ? You will see — we 
 shall have an army of native citizens before many 
 days." 
 
 " Perhaps so, Robert, and I am not too timid to 
 wish that such may be its effect. But is it not a dis- 
 honourable deception that he has practised in this 
 movement ? Did not the protections promise us im- 
 munity in this particular?" 
 
 " No, sir — I think not. I see nothing that Clinton 
 has done in this so very grievous. Your protection 
 secured you, as a citizen, to conform to the duties of the 
 citizen, and to protect you as such. One of the duties 
 of the citizen is the performance of militia service." 
 
 " Granted, Robert — but commutable by fine. I am 
 not unwilling to pay this fine : but Clinton's procla- 
 mation insists only on the duty." 
 
 " And I am glad of it. Uncle, uncle, do you not 
 see the dishonourable character of such an argument? 
 Your conscience forbids that you should serve against 
 your country, but you avoid this actual service in your 
 own person, by paying the money which buys a mer- 
 
160 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 cenary to do the same duty. You will not do murder 
 with your own hand, but you pay another to perform 
 the crime. Shame ! shame, I say !" 
 
 " Not so, Robert ; we know not, and I believe not, 
 that the money is so appropriated. It becomes the 
 spoil of the leaders, and simply helps them to for- 
 tune." 
 
 " Granted, and the sterner argument against you is 
 yet to come. You are wealthy, and avail yourself of 
 your good fortune to buy j^ourself out of a danger to 
 which the poor man must submit. By what right 
 would you escape from and evade your duties, when he, 
 as a citizen, having the same, must submit to their per- 
 formance? His conscience, like your own, teaches 
 him that to fight for his country and against her inva- 
 ders is his first duty. You evade your duty by the 
 help of your better fortune, and leave him, as in the 
 present instance, either to perish hopelessly in unequal 
 contest — unequal through your defection — or to take up 
 arms in a battle to which his principles are foreign. 
 Such is the effect of this most unpatriotic reservation, 
 which, on the score of your money, you have presumed 
 to make. You sacrifice your country doubly, when 
 you contribute to violate the conscience of its citizens. 
 The duties of the rich man — the leading, influential man 
 — are those chiefly of example. What is our safety, and 
 where would be the safety of any nation — its freedom 
 or its glory — if, when danger came, its rich citizens 
 made terms with the invader which sacrificed the poor ? 
 Such is your case — such your proceeding exactly. 
 There is now, thank Heaven, but one alternative that 
 Clinton's proclamation has left you." 
 
 " That is the sword — I know it, Ifeel it, Robert." 
 
 " Touch it not, touch it not, uncle, I pray you, if 
 you can help it," cried the feeble girl who lay gasping 
 on the sofa. Her eyes were illuminated with a holy 
 fire ; her cheeks, pale, almost transparent, shone, white 
 and glittering, with a spiritual glory, from the pillow on 
 which her head was resting ; while one of her long, 
 taper fingers was stretched forward with an adjuring 
 
THE PARTISAN. 161 
 
 earnestness. She had been a silent listener with the 
 rest to the warm and deeply important dialogue which 
 had been going on. The novelty of the difficulty, for 
 they had not heard of the proclamation before, had kept 
 them dumb until that moment, when Colonel Walton, 
 as one having come to a settled conclusion, had referred 
 to the sword as a last alternative. The gentle spirit 
 of Emily Singleton, quick, sensitive, though frail and 
 fleeting, then poured forth its feeble notes, in order to 
 arrest the decision. 
 
 " Oh, touch not the sword, uncle, I pray you — the 
 keen sword, that cuts away the happy life, and murders 
 the blessed, andthe blessing, peace — the peace of the 
 innocent, the peace of the young and good. Oh, 
 Robert, wherefore have you come with tliese fierce 
 words ? Is there to be no end to strife — the bloody and 
 the brutal strife — the slaying of men — the trampling 
 of God's creatures in the dust ?" 
 
 "Wliy, sister — dear Emily — but how can we help 
 it ? We must fight our enemies, or they will trample 
 on us the more." 
 
 " I see not that : better let them rob and plunder ; 
 but take not life, risk not life. Life is holy. None 
 should take life but him who gives it, since to take 
 life takes away from man, not only the privilege to 
 breathe, but the privilege to repent of sins, to repair 
 injustice, to make himself fit for immortality. When 
 you slay your enemy, you send him not merely from one 
 world — you send him into another — and which 1 Oh, 
 brother, dear brother, wherefore would you engage in 
 this horrid war ? What blessing so great will it bring 
 you, as to take from you the thought of the butchery you 
 must go through to secure it ? Oh, turn not away, 
 Roliert, but hear me ! I would not vex you, nor would 
 1 now speak of things beyond my poor ability ; but can 
 you not avoid this fighting, this hewing down of man, 
 this defacing of God's image, this defiling and death 
 of the goodliest work of Heaven? I know, Robert, 
 you have a true heart, and love not such an employ- 
 02 
 
162 THE PARTISAN. ' 
 
 ment — say to me, and I will believe you — can you 
 not avoid it 1" 
 
 She sank back nearly exhausted. Her breath flick- 
 ered, and the glow^ vi^hich now overspread her cheek, 
 was, if possible, more threatening in its aspect than 
 the death-like paleness which habitually rested there. 
 Her prostration called for the quick attention of her 
 cousin, and as Katharine Walton bent over her, and 
 her brother knelt beside her, a momentary fear came 
 upon them both, that the effort she had made had 
 destroyed her. But a deep sigh indicated the returning 
 consciousness, and the strange, spiritual light ascended 
 once more into and rekindled her eyes. She saw who 
 were immediately beside her ; and there was some- 
 thing of a smile of joy, as she beheld the two, so closely 
 associated, whom, of all the world, she desired to see 
 even more immediately linked together. Katharine 
 understood the glance, and rising from her kneeling 
 position, extricated her hand, which lay partly under 
 that of Robert, on the back of the sofa. The move- 
 ment recalled the thoughts of Emily from the new di- 
 rection which they had taken, and she now recurred 
 to the unfinished topic. 
 
 " I will trust your assurance, brother, as I know your 
 gentleness of feeling. May you not escape this bloody 
 employment ? for my poor thought fails to perceive 
 the good or the glory which can come of the distresses 
 of humanity." 
 
 " It would be shame, Emily, deep shame and dis- 
 honour, to avoid it ; and, indeed, it may not be avoided. 
 The pei'secutor pursues when you fly, and he tramples 
 even more freely when you resist not. It is in the 
 nature of injustice and wrong, to grow insolent with 
 impunity; and the dishonour must rest on him, who, 
 being himself strong, looks unmoved on the sufferings 
 of the weak, and withholds his succour. Believe me, 
 dear Emily, I love not this strife ; but defence of our 
 country is war under God's own sanction, since it 
 seeks to maintain free from blood and from injustice 
 the home which he has given to the peaceful." 
 
THE PARTISAN. 163 
 
 " It is painful, very painful, to think so ; yet so it 
 must be, if you have said it. God prosper you in your 
 cause, Robert, and his eye be upon you !" 
 
 He could only reply by earnestly pressing his lips 
 upon her cold forehead, as with painful eyes he watched 
 her progress to her chamber, supported by the arms 
 of his lovely cousin. 
 
 CHAPTER Xm. 
 
 *' I may not listen now. How should we hear 
 The song of birds, when, in the stormy sky, 
 Rolls the rude thunder ?" 
 
 The ladies had retired, but it was not easy for 
 Singleton and his imcle to resume the topic which 
 had previously engaged them. There was a visible 
 damp upon their spirits — the elastic nephew, the hesi- 
 tating colonel, the rough, honest, and direct Humpliries, 
 all felt the passionate force of Emily's exhortation, 
 though its argument necessarily failed upon them. 
 There had been quite too much that was awing in her 
 speech and manner — as if death were speaking tiirough 
 the lips of life. Their thoughts had been elevated by 
 her language to a theme infinitely beyond the hourly 
 and the earthly. The high-souled emphasis with 
 which she had insisted upon the integrity of human 
 life, as essential to the due preparation for the future 
 immortality, had touched the sensibility of those 
 whose vocation was at hostility with the doctrine 
 which she taught ; and though, from the very nature 
 of things, they could not obey her exhortations, they 
 yet could not fail to meditate upon, and to feel them. 
 Thus impressed, silent and unobserving, it was a relief 
 to all, when Major Singleton reminded Humphries of 
 the promise which he had presumed to make him, 
 touching the old Madeira in his uncle's garret. He 
 briefly told the latter of the circumstance alluded to, 
 
164 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 and the prompt orders of Colonel Walton soon brought 
 the excellence of his wines to the impartial test to 
 which Humphries proposed to subject them. The 
 lieutenant smacked his lips satisfactorily. It was not 
 often that his fortune had indulged him with such a 
 beverage. Corn whiskey, at best, had been his liquor 
 in the swamps ; and, even in his father's tavern, the 
 tastes were not sufficiently high, of those who patron- 
 ised that establishment, to call for other than the 
 cheapest qualities. A brief dialogue about the favourite 
 wines — a sly reference on the part of Singleton, to the 
 drinking" capacities of his British guests, and a hypo- 
 critical sort of condolence upon the privations to 
 which his uncle must be subjected, in conseq^uence of 
 the proclamation, soon brought the latter back to the 
 legitimate topic. 
 
 " But what news, Robert, do you bring us ? What 
 of the continentals — is it true that we are to have an 
 army from Virginia, or is it mere rumour ? — a thing to 
 give us hope, only the more completely to depress and 
 mortify ? Speak out, man, and none of your inuendoes 
 — you know, well enough, that I am with you, body 
 and soul." 
 
 " I believe you will be, uncle, but you certainly are 
 not yet. With the hope, however, to make you so 
 more completely, I will give you news that shall cheer 
 you up, if you have the heart to hope for a favourable 
 change of things. It is no mere rumour, sir, touching 
 the northern army. Congress has remembered us at 
 last, and the continentals are actually under way, and 
 by this time must be on the borders of North Caro- 
 lina." 
 
 " Indeed ! that is well," cried the colonel, chuckling, 
 and rubbing his hands — " this is good news, indeed, 
 my nephew, and may help us somewhat out of our 
 difficulties." 
 
 " Not so. Colonel Walton, if it please you. It 
 will help you out of no difficulties, if you are not 
 wiUing to lend a hand for that purpose. Congress 
 
THE PARTISAN. 165 
 
 cannot afford an army — it can only give us the nucleus 
 for one ; some fifteen hundred men at the utmost, and 
 but half of these continentals. We have the Delaware 
 and Maryland lines — brave troops, indeed — among the 
 very bravest that Washington commands — but few, 
 too few for our purposes, unless we ourselves turn 
 out." 
 
 " Who commands them, Robert ?" 
 
 " De Kalb on the march ; but, if we need men, and 
 if our arms are few, the name of our commander is a 
 host for us. The conqueror of Burgoyne at Saratoga 
 has been ordered from Virginia to lead them." 
 
 " What, Gates ! that is brave news, truly — brave 
 news — and we shall do well to wish them success in 
 another glass of Madeira. Come, Mr. Humphries — 
 come, sir — you see Proctor has left us some of the 
 genuine stuff yet — enough for friends, at least." 
 
 " Ay, sir," said Humphries, drinking, " and this 
 news of the continentals promises that we have enough 
 also for our enemies." 
 
 " Bravo ! I hope so ; I think go. Nephew, drink, 
 drink — and say, what has been the effect of this intel- 
 ligence upon the people 1 How has it wrought upon 
 the Santee ?" 
 
 " Everywhere well, uncle, and as it should, unless 
 it be immediately in your neighbourhood, where you 
 breathe by sufferance only. Everywhere well, sir. 
 The people are roused, inspirited, full of hope and 
 animation. The country is alive with a new senti- 
 ment. Nor is its influence confined only to the hopes of 
 friends ; it has had its effect upon the fears of enemies. 
 Rawdon already feels it, and has drawn in all his out- 
 posts. He keeps now those of Ninety Six, Camden, 
 and Augusta only. He is concentrating his force 
 against the coming of Gates, whose first blow must be 
 against his lordship. This concentration has given 
 opportunity to our people, and opportunity gives them 
 courage. The Santee and the Peedee countries are 
 full of whigs, only wanting imbodiment to prove 
 
166 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 effective. Colonel Sumter has returned from North 
 Carolina, with a growing troop which threatens Ninety 
 Six itself." 
 
 "And Marion?" 
 
 "Ay, Marion — from him I bring you better news 
 yet, when I tell you that I left him on Britton's Neck, 
 where we stood upon the bodies of half of Gainey's 
 tories, whom we had just defeated with bloody slaugh- 
 ter. Gainey himself wounded, and his troop for the 
 time dispersed." 
 
 " Better and better, Robert ; and I rejoice me that 
 you had a hand in the business. But what, in all this 
 time, of that sanguinary rider, Tarleton 1 What keeps 
 him quiet — what is he doing 1 Surely, with a taste like 
 his, the very knowledge of these risings should be 
 grateful." 
 
 " Doubtless they will be, when he gets wind of 
 them ; but he is now with the cavalry of the legion, 
 somewhere in the neighbourhood of Rocky Mount, 
 where Sumter is said to be looking after him. Thus, 
 you see, we are all engaged or preparing — all but you, 
 of the parishes. You either hug the knees of your 
 invaders, or sleep on, to avoid the sense of shame : 
 all but your Washington, who, I am told, still con- 
 trives to keep his horse together, though sadly cut up 
 while under White and Baylor." 
 
 " True, true, — our people here are but too much 
 disposed to submission. They have given up in 
 despair long since." 
 
 " I reckon that's a small mistake, colonel — I beg 
 pardon, sir, but I rather think it's not exactly as you 
 say. I don't think our people any more willing to 
 submit, than the people on Black River and Pedee, 
 but it's all because we han't got leaders ; that's the 
 reason, colonel. I know of my own knowledge there's 
 any number will turn out, if you'll only crook a finger, 
 and show 'em the track, but it's not reasonable to 
 expect poor men, who have never ruled before, to take 
 the lead of great people in time of danger." 
 
 Humphries spoke up, and spoke justly for the Hon- 
 
THE PARTISAN. 167 
 
 our of his neighbours. Singleton continued, when 
 his lieutenant concluded — 
 
 " He speaks truly, Colonel Walton, as I can testify. 
 What if I tell you that your people — here, under your 
 own eye — are not only ready to take up arms, but that 
 many of thera are in arras — more, sir — that they have 
 already done service in your own neighbourhood, and 
 are ready to do more — that a promising squad, under 
 my command, now lies on the Stonoe-savamiah and 
 that, in a few days, I hope to join Colonel Marion with 
 a troop of fifty men gathered from among your own 
 parishioners ! These are the people who are so will- 
 ing to submit, according to your account ; pray you, 
 uncle, never write their history." 
 
 " Robert, you surprise me." 
 
 "Pleasantly, I hope, mine uncle — it is the truth. 
 The whole was planned by Colonel Marion, from 
 whom I have this duty in charge. Disguised, he has 
 been through your parish. Disguised, he sat at your 
 board, in the character of a tory commissary, and 
 your scornful treatment persuaded him to hope that 
 you might be brought into action. Are you staggered 
 now ?" 
 
 The colonel was dumb when he heard this narrative ; 
 and Major Singleton then proceeded to give a brief 
 account of the little events of recent occurrence in 
 the neighbourhood, as we have already narrated them, 
 subsequently to his assumption of command in the 
 Cypress Swamp. The story, though it gave him 
 pleasure, was a sad rebuke to Colonel Walton's patriot- 
 ism. He scarcely heard him to the end. 
 
 " Now, Heaven help me, Robert, but I take shame to 
 myself, that you, almost a stranger upon the Ashley, 
 should have thus taken the lead out of ray own hand, 
 as I may say, and among my own people." 
 
 " It is not too late, uncle, to amend the error. You 
 may yet help greatly to finish what has been tolerably 
 well begun." 
 
 " No — it is not too late. I can do much with Dor- 
 chester and Goose Creek. I have influence throughout 
 
168 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 St. Paul's, and great part of St George's. Cane 
 Acre will come out, to a man." 
 
 Rapidly moving to and fro along the apartment, 
 Colonel Walton enumerated to himself, in under tones, 
 the various sections of country in his knowledge 
 which he thought might be moved at his instigation. 
 His nephew did not suffer the mood of his uncle to 
 relax. 
 
 " Now is the time, uncle — now is the time, if ever. 
 Your name will do every thing in this quarter ; and 
 you may conjecture for yourself, what the shame must 
 be, if others achieve the work which you touched not. 
 You have now a glorious opportunity at this season, 
 Tarleton, whom they so much dread, being absent, 
 Wemyss in another direction, and your garrison so 
 weak at Dorchester that they cannot easily spare a 
 detachment. Besides, the approach of Gates promises 
 sufficient employ to all the I'orce which Ravvdon and 
 Cornwallis can bring up." 
 
 " The thing looks well," said Walton, musingly. 
 
 " Never better, if the heart be firm. Now is the 
 time if ever — beat up recruits — sound, stimulate your 
 neighbours, and dash up with as smart a force as you 
 can possibly muster to join with the army from Virginia. 
 They will receive you joyfully, and your corps must 
 increase with every mile in your progress." 
 
 " Would I were on the way ; but the beginning is 
 yet to be made, and on what plea shall I seek to per- 
 suade others, without authority, and known as one 
 having taken a protection ?" 
 
 " That latter difficulty is cured by the assumption of 
 a newr character. Destroy the one accursed instrument, 
 and, in its place, I am proud to hand you a badge of 
 honour and of confidence. Look on this paper and 
 peruse this letter. The one is from his excellency. 
 Governor Rutledge — the other from Colonel Marion. 
 Read — read !" 
 
 1 Walton unfolded the envelope, and the commission 
 of Governor Rutledge as colonel of state militia met 
 his eye : the letter from Colonel Marion was an invita- 
 
THE PARTISAN. 169 
 
 tion to the service — a brief, manly, modest letter ; 
 such as could only come from Marion — so calm, so 
 unassuming, yet so conclusive in its exhortations. 
 
 " You see, uncle," said the major, when he saw 
 that the other had concluded the perusal of the docu- 
 ments — " you see, I come not unprovided. Both 
 Rutledge and Marion hold your name of sufficient im- 
 portance to our cause to desire its influence ; and they 
 would have you, on any terms, emancipate yourself 
 from the villanous bondage — for it is no less — into 
 which you have fallen. Here, now, you have an op- 
 portunity, by an honourable, and, let me add, an atoning 
 transaction, of returning to the service of your country. 
 Do not let it pass you. Let me not think, my dear 
 uncle, that my word, pledged for you to Marion, when 
 I undertook and craved this commission, was pledged 
 in vain, and is now forfeited." 
 
 This warm appeal of Singleton, in the utterance 
 of which he had discarded all that asperity which 
 had kept pace with much of his share in the previous 
 dialogue, was soothing to his uncle's spirit. He was 
 moved ; and slowly again, though unconsciously, he 
 read over the letter of Marion. So high a compliment 
 from the gallant partisan was flattering in the extreme ; 
 and the trust of Governor Rutledge, under his late 
 smitings of conscience, was healing and grateful. 
 For a few moments he spoke not ; but at length ap- 
 proaching his nephew, he seized his hand, and at 
 once avowed the pleasure it gave him, to avail himself 
 of the privileges which the commission conferred upon 
 him. 
 
 " I will be no longer wanting to my country, Robert. 
 I will do my duty. This paper gives me power to 
 enrol men, to form troops, and to act against the 
 enemy, and find my sanction in the commission of the 
 executive. I will do so. I will pause no longer, and, 
 spite of the sacrifice, will act as it requires." 
 
 The countenance of Major Singleton, and that of 
 Humphries, no less, glowed with an honest pleasure, 
 as the former replied— 
 
 Vol. I.— P 
 
170 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 " Spoken as it should be, Colonel Walton — spoken 
 as it should be. The decision comes late, but not too 
 late. It is redeeming, and God grant that it be as 
 prosperous to all as it is surely proper and praise- 
 worthy." 
 
 " So I believe it, or I would not now adopt it : but, 
 Robert, know you not that such a decision makes me 
 a beggar ? Sequestration — " 
 
 " Now, out upon it, uncle ! why will you still ballast 
 your good works with a weight which shall for ever 
 keep them from heaven's sight ? You are no niggard 
 — you live profusely — care not for money : wherefore 
 this reference to wealth in comparison with honour and 
 honourable duty?" 
 
 " The wealth is nothing, Robert ; but I have a 
 strange love for these old groves — this family mansion, 
 descended to me like a sacred trust through so many 
 hands and ancestors. I would not that they should be 
 lost." 
 
 The youth looked sternly at the speaker for a 
 few moments in silence, but the fierce emotion at 
 length found its way to his lips in tones of like indig- 
 nation with that which sparkled from his eyes. 
 
 " Now, by heaven, uncle, had I known of this — had 
 I dreamed that thou hadst weighed, for an instant, the 
 fine sense of honour in the scales against thy love of this 
 thy dwelling-place — my own hand should have applied 
 the torch to its shingles. Dearly as I have loved this 
 old mansion, I myself would have freely kindled the 
 flame which should have burned it to the ground. I 
 would have watched the fire as it swept through these 
 old trees, scathing and scattering the branches under 
 which I had a thousand times played — I would have 
 beheld their ruin with a pleasurable emotion ; and as 
 they fell successively to the earth which they once shel- 
 tered, I would have shouted in triumph, that I saved you 
 from the dishonourable bargain which you have made 
 for their protection so long." 
 
 " But Kate — Kate, Robert ; my sweet child — my 
 only child !" 
 
THE PARTISAN. 171 
 
 It was all the father said, but it was enough, if not 
 to convince, at least to silence, the indignant speaker. 
 Her good was, indeed, a consideration ; and when 
 Singleton reflected upon the tender care which had 
 kept her from privation and sorrow all her life hitherto, 
 he could not help feeling how natural was such a con- 
 sideration to the mind of such a father. 
 
 But the emotion had subsided — the more visible 
 portions of it, at least ; and Colonel Walton, his 
 nephew and Humphries, engaged in various conver- 
 sation, chiefly devoted to the labours that lay before 
 them. Having gained his object, however, Major 
 Singleton was in no mood to remain much longer. 
 His duties were various ; his little squad required his 
 attention, as he well knew how little subordination 
 could be had from raw militiamen, unless in the con- 
 tinued and controlling presence of their commander. 
 The hour was growing late, and some portion of his 
 time was due to his sister and the ladies, who awaited 
 his coming in the snug back or family parlour, into 
 which none but the select few ever found admission. 
 
 Leaving Humphries in the charge of Colonel Walton, 
 our hero approached the quiet sanctuary with peculiar 
 emotions. There was a soft melancholy pervading 
 the little circle. The moral influence of such a con- 
 dition as that of Emily Singleton was touchingly felt 
 by all around her. The high-spirited, the proud 
 Katharine Walton greAV meek and humble, when she 
 gazed upon the sufferer, dying by a protracted and a 
 painful death, in the midst of youth, rich in beauty, 
 and with a superiority of mind which might well 
 awaken admiration in the other, and envy in her own 
 sex. Yet she was dying with the mind alive, but un- 
 exercised ; a heart warm with a true aflfection, yet 
 utterly unappropriated ; sensibilities touching and 
 charming, which had only lived, that memory might 
 mourn the more over those sweets of character so well 
 known to enjoyment, yet so little enjoying. It was a 
 thought to make the proud heart humble ; and Kate 
 looked upon her cousin with tearful eyes. She sat 
 
172 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 at her feet, saying no word, while the brother of the 
 dying girl, taking a place beside her, lifted her head 
 upon his bosom, where she seemed pleased that ii 
 should lie, while' he pressed his lips fondly and fre- 
 quently to her forehead. In murmured tones, unheard 
 by the rest, she carried on with him a little dialogue, 
 half playful, half tender, in which she pressed him on 
 the subject of his love for her cousin. The mention 
 of Kate's name, a little louder than she usually spoke, 
 called for the latter's attention, who looked up, and a 
 suffusion of her cheek seemed to show a something of 
 consciousness in her mind of what had been the sub- 
 ject between them. The eye of Emily caught the 
 glance, and a smile of archness played over her lips 
 for an instant, but soon made way for that earnest 
 and settled melancholy of look which was now its 
 habitual expression. They continued to converse 
 together, the others only now and then mingling in the 
 dialogue, on those various little matters belonging to 
 her old home and its associates, which a young and 
 gentle nature like hers would be apt to remember. 
 Sometimes, so feeble was her utterance that Robert 
 was compelled to place his ear to her lips the better to 
 take in what she said. It was at one of these moments 
 that a severe clap of thunder recalled the major to a 
 sense of his duties. The sudden concussion startled 
 the nervous maiden, and Kate came to her assistance, 
 so that his hand was brought once more in contact with 
 that of the woman he loved, in the performance of an 
 office almost too sacredly stern to permit of the show of 
 that other emotion which he yet felt — how strangely ! — 
 in his bosom. The blood tingled and glowed in his 
 veins, and she, too — she withdrew her fingers the 
 moment her service could well be dispensed with. 
 Another roll of the thunder, and a message from 
 Humphries warned him of the necessity of tearing 
 himself from a scene only too painfully fascinating. 
 He took an affectionate leave of his aunt, and pressing 
 the lips of his sister fondly, her last words to him 
 were comprised in a whisper — 
 
THE PARTISAN. 173 
 
 " Spare life — save life, Robert : God bless you ! and 
 come back to me soon." 
 
 Kate encountered him in the passage-way. Her 
 look was something troubled, and her visible emotion 
 might have been grateful to the vanity of our hero, 
 did he not see how unusually covered with gloom were 
 the features of her face. 
 
 "Dear Kate — sweet cousin — I must leave you 
 now." 
 
 " I know it, Robert — I know more : you have per- 
 suaded my father to break his protection." 
 
 " I have done my best towards it, Kate ; but if he 
 has resolved, the impulse was- as much his own as 
 from me. He could not well have avoided it in the 
 end, situated as he was." 
 
 " Perhaps not, Robert ; still, your persuasions have 
 been the most immediately urgent ; and though I dread 
 the result, I cannot well blame you for what you have 
 done. I now wish to know from you, what are the 
 chances in favour of his successful action. 1 would 
 at least console myself by their recapitulation when 
 he is absent, and perhaps in danger." 
 
 Major Singleton gave a promising account of the 
 prospects before them ; such, indeed, as they appeared 
 at that time to the sanguine Americans, and needing but 
 little exaggeration. She seemed satisfied, and he then 
 proceeded to entreat her upon a subject purely selfish. 
 
 " Speak not now — not now on such a matter. Have 
 we not enough, Robert, to trouble us ? Danger and 
 death, grief and many apprehensions hang over us, 
 and will not suffer such idle thoughts," was the reply. 
 
 " These are no idle thoughts, Kate, since they 
 belong so closely to our happiness. Say to me, then, 
 only say that you love me." 
 
 " I love you, indeed — to be sure I do, as a cousin 
 and as a friend ; but really you ask too much when 
 you crave for more. I have no time, no feeling, for 
 love in these moments." 
 
 " Nay, be serious, Kate, and say. We know not 
 P2 
 
174 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 how soon our situation may change. I am hourly 
 exposed in a hazardous service — I may perish ; and I 
 would, before such an event, be secure in the hope 
 that I may look to you for that love which would make 
 me happy when living, or — " 
 
 She stopped him with a cool, sarcastic speech, con- 
 cluding the sentence for him in a manner most annoy- 
 ing— 
 
 " Drop a tear for me when I am dead." 
 
 She saw that he looked displeased, and immediately 
 after, with an art peculiarly her own, she diverted his 
 anger. 
 
 " Nay, dear cousin, forgive me ; but you looked the 
 conclusion, and so pathetically, I thought it not improb- 
 able that its utterance would find you speechless. 
 Be not so tragic, I pray you ; 1 am serious enough as it 
 is — soberly serious, not tragically so. Be reasonable 
 for a while, and reflect that these very vicissitudes of 
 your present mode of life, should discourage you from 
 pressing this matter. I do not know whether I love 
 you or not, except as a relation. It requires time to 
 make up one's mind on the subject, and trust me I shall 
 think of it in season. But, just now, I cannot — and 
 hear me, Robert, firmly and honestly I tell you, while 
 these difficulties last, while my father's life is in dan- 
 ger, and while your sister lies in my arms helpless 
 and dying, I not only cannot, but will not, answer 
 you. Forbear the subject, then, I pray you, for a better 
 season ; and remember, when I speak to you thus, I 
 speak to you as a woman, with some pretensions to 
 good sense, who will try to think upon her affections 
 as calmly as upon the most simple and domestic 
 necessity of her life. Be satisfied then that you will 
 have justice." 
 
 Another summons from Humphries below, and a 
 sudden rush of wind along the casement, warned him 
 of the necessity of concluding the interview. He had 
 barely time to press her hand to his lips when she 
 hurried him down to her father. A few brief words at 
 
THE PARTISAN. 175 
 
 parting, a solemn renewal of their pledges, and, in 
 a few moments, the two partisans were on horse, 
 speeding down the long avenue on the way to their 
 encampment. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 *' 'Tis a wild night, yet there are those abroad, 
 The storm oflfends not. 'Tis but oppression hides, 
 While fear, the scourge of conscience, lifts a whip, 
 Beyond his best capacity to fly." 
 
 The evening, which had been beautiful before, had 
 undergone a change. The moon was obscured, and 
 gigantic shadows, dense and winged, hurried with deep- 
 toned cries along the heavens, as if in angry pursuit. 
 Occasionally, in sudden gusts, the winds moaned 
 heavily among the pines ; a cooling freshness impreg- 
 nated the atmosphere, and repeated flashes of sharpest 
 lightning imparted to the prospect a splendour which 
 illuminated, while increasing the perils of that path 
 which our adventurers were now pursuing. Large 
 drops, at moments, fell from the driving clouds, and 
 every thing promised the coming on of one of those 
 sudden and severe thunder-storms, so common to the 
 early summer of the South. 
 
 Singleton looked up anxiously at the wild confusion 
 of sky and forest around him. The woods seemed to 
 apprehend the danger, and the melancholy sighing of 
 their branches a])peared to indicate an instinct con- 
 sciousness, which had its moral likeness to the feeling 
 in the bosom of the observer. How many of these 
 mighty pines were to be prostrated under that approach- 
 ing tempest ! how many beautiful vines, which had 
 clung to them like affections that only desire an 
 object to fasten upon, would share in their ruin ! How 
 could Singleton overlook the analogy between the for- 
 
176 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 tune of his family and friends, and that which his 
 imagination depicted as the probable fortune of the 
 forest? 
 
 " We shall have it before long, Humphries, for you 
 see the black horns yonder in the break before us. I 
 begin to feel the warm breath of the hurricane already, 
 and we must look out for some smaller woods. I like 
 not these high pines in a storm like this, so use 
 your memory, man, and lead on to some less likely to 
 attract the lightning. Ha ! — we must speed — we have 
 lingered too long. Why did you not hurry me? you 
 should have known how difficult it was for me to hurry 
 myself in such a situation." 
 
 This was spoken by Singleton at moments when the 
 gusts permitted him to be heard, and when the irregu- 
 lar route siiflered his companion to keep beside him. 
 The lieutenant answered promptly — 
 
 " That was the very reason why I did not wish to 
 hurry you, major. I knew you hadn't seen your 
 folks for a mighty long spell, and so I couldn't find it 
 in my heart to break in upon you, though I felt dubi- 
 ous that the storm would be soon upon us." 
 
 "A bad reason for a soldier. Friends and family are 
 scarcely desirable at such a time as this, since we can 
 seldom see them, or only see their suffering. Ha ! — 
 that was sharp !" 
 
 " Yes, sir, but at some distance. We are among 
 the stunted oaks now, which are rather squat, and not 
 so likely to give as the pines. There aint so much of 
 'em, you see. Keep a look out, sir, or the branches 
 will pull you from your horse. The road here is 
 pretty much overgrown, and the vines crowd thick 
 upon it." 
 
 "A word in season," exclaimed Singleton, as he 
 drew back before an overhanging branch which had 
 been bent by the wind, and was thrust entirely across 
 his path. A few moments were spent in rounding the 
 obstruction, and the storm grew heavier ; the winds no 
 longer laboured among the trees, but rushed along with 
 a force Mdiich flattened their elastic tops, so that it 
 
THE PARTISAN. 177 
 
 either swept clear through them, or laid them prostrate 
 for ever. A stronger hold, a positive straining in their 
 effort, became necessary now, with both riders, in order 
 to secure themselves firmly in their saddles ; while 
 their horses, with uplifted ears, and an occasional snort, 
 in this manner, not less than by a shiver of their whole 
 frames, betrayed their own apprehensions, and, as it 
 were, appealed to their masters for protection. 
 
 " The dumb beast knows where to look, after all, 
 major : he knows that man is most able, you see, to 
 take care of him, though man wants his keeper too. 
 But the beast don't know that. He's like the good 
 soldier that minds his own captain, and looks to him 
 only, though the captain himself has a general from 
 whom he gets his orders. Now, say what you will, 
 major, there's reason in the horse — the good horse, I 
 mean, for some horses that I've straddled in my time 
 have shown themselves mighty foolish and unrea- 
 sonable." 
 
 Humphries stroked the neck of his steed fondly, 
 and coaxed him by an affectionate word, as he uttered 
 himself thus generally, though perhaps with little phi- 
 losophy. He seemed desirous of assuring the steed 
 that he held him of the better class, and favoured him 
 accordingly. Singleton assented to the notion of his 
 companion, who did not, however, see the smile which 
 accompanied his answer. 
 
 " Yes, yes, Humphries, the horse knows his master, 
 and is the least able or willing of all animals to do 
 without him. I would we had ours in safety now : I 
 would these five miles were well over." 
 
 " It's a tough ride ; but that's so much the better, 
 major — the less apt we are to be troubled with the 
 tories." 
 
 " I should rather plunge through a crowd of them, 
 now, in a charge agahist superior cavalry, than take it 
 in such a night as this, when the wind lifts you, at 
 every bound, half out of your saddle, and, but for the 
 lightning, which comes quite too nigh to be at all times 
 pleasant, your face would make momentary acquaint- 
 
178 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 ance with boughs and branches, vines and thorns, 
 that give no notice and leave their mark at every brush. 
 A charge were far less difficult." 
 
 " Almost as safe, sir, that's certain, and not more 
 unpleasant. But let us hold up, ]\Iajor, for a while, 
 and push for the thicket. We shall now have the 
 Avorst of the hurricane. See the edge of it yonder — 
 how black ! and now — only hear the roaring !" 
 
 " Yes, it comes. I feel it on my cheek. It sends 
 a breath like fire before it, sultry and thick, as if it 
 had been sweeping all day over beds of the hottest 
 sand. Lead the way, Humphries." 
 
 " Here, sir, — follow close and quick. There's a 
 clump of forest, with nothing but small trees, lying to 
 the left — now, sir, that flash will show it to you — 
 there we can be snug till the storm passes over. It 
 has a long body and it shakes it mightily, but it goes 
 too fast to stay long in its journey, and a few minutes, 
 sir — a few minutes is all we want. Wind the vine there, 
 sir ; and there, to your left, is a gully, where an old 
 tree's roots have come up. Now, major, the sooner 
 we dismount and squat with our horses the better." 
 
 They had now reached the spot to which Hum- 
 phries had pointed — a thick undergrowth of small tim- 
 ber — of pine, the stunted oak, black-jack, and hickory 
 — few of sufficient size to feel the force of the tem- 
 pest, or prove very conspicuous conductors of the 
 lightning. Obeying the suggestion and following the 
 example of his companion. Singleton dismounted, and 
 the two placed themselves and their horses as much 
 upon the sheltered side of the clump as possible, yet 
 sufficiently far to escape any danger from its over- 
 throw. Here they awaited the coming of the tempest. 
 The experienced woodman alone could have spoken 
 for its approach. A moment's pause had intervened, 
 Avhen the suddenly aroused elements seemed as sud- 
 denly to have sunk into grim repose. A slight sighing 
 of the wind only, as it wound sluggishly along the dis- 
 tant wood, had its warning, and the dense blackness 
 of the imbodied storm was only evident at moments 
 
THE PARTISAN. 179 
 
 when the occasional rush of the lightning made visible 
 its gloomy terrors. 
 
 "It's making ready for a charge, major : it's just 
 like a good captain, sir, that calls in his scouts 
 and sentries, and orders all things to keep quiet, and 
 without beat of drum gets all fixed to spring out from 
 the bush upon them that's coming. It won't be long 
 now, sir, before we get it ; but just now it's still as 
 the grave. It's waiting for its outriders — them long 
 streaky white clouds it sent out an hour ago, like so 
 many scouts. They're a-coming up now, and when 
 they all get up together — then look out for the squall. 
 Quiet, now, Mossfoot — quiet now, creature — don't be 
 frightened — it's not a-going to hurt you, nag — not a bit." 
 
 Humphries patted his favourite while speaking, and 
 strove to sooth and quiet the impatience Avhich both 
 horses exhibited. This was in that strange pause of 
 the storm which is its most remarkable feature in the 
 South — that singular interregnum of the winds, when, 
 after giving repeated notice of their most terrific ac- 
 tion, they seem almost to forget their purpose, and 
 for a few moments appear to slumber in their inac- 
 tivity. Butthe pause was only momentary, and was now 
 at an end. In another instant, they heard the rush and 
 the roar, as of a thousand wild steeds of the desert 
 ploughing the sands ; then followed the mournful howl- 
 ing of the trees — the shrieking of the lashed winds, 
 as if, under the influence of some fierce demon who 
 enjoyed his triumph, they plunged through the forest, 
 wailing at their own destructive progress, yet com- 
 pelled unswervingly to hurry forward. They twisted 
 the pine from its place, snapping it as a reed, while 
 its heavy fall to the ground which it had so long shel- 
 tered, called up, even amid the roar of the tempest, 
 a thousand echoes from the forest. The branches of 
 the wood were prostrated like so much heather, wrested 
 and swept from the tree which yielded them with- 
 out a struggle to the blast ; and the crouching horses 
 and riders below were in an instant covered with a 
 cloud of fragments. These were the precursors 
 
180 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 merely : then came the arrowy flight and form of the 
 hurricane itself — its actual bulk — its imbodied power, 
 pressing along through the forest in a gyratory progress, 
 not fifty yards wide, never distending in width, yet 
 capriciously winding from right to left and left to right, 
 in a zigzag direction, as if a playful spirit thus strove 
 to mix with all the terrors of destruction the sportive 
 mood of the most idle fancy. In this progress, the whole 
 wood in its path underwent prostration — the thick, 
 proud pine, the deep-rooted and unbending oak, the 
 small cedar and the pliant shrub, torn, dismembered 
 of their fine proportions ; some, only by a timely yielding 
 to the pressure, passed over with little injiuy, as if too 
 much scorned by the assailant for assault. The 
 larger trees in the neighbourhood of the spot where our 
 partisans had taken shelter, shared the harsher fortune 
 generally, for they were in the very track of the tempest. 
 Too sturdy and massive to yield, they withheld their 
 homage, and were either snapped off" relentlessly and 
 short, or were torn and twisted up from their very 
 roots. The poor horses, with eyes staring in the direc- 
 tion of the storm, with ears erect, and manes flying in 
 the wind, stood trembling in every joint, too much terri- 
 fied, or too conscious of their helplessness, to attempt 
 to fly. All around the crouching party, the woods 
 seemed for several seconds absolutely flattened. Huge 
 trees were prostrated, and their branches were cluster- 
 ing thickly, and almost forming a prison around them ; 
 leaving it doubtful, as the huge body rolled over their 
 heads, whether they could ever make their escape 
 from the enclosure. Rush after rush of the trooping 
 winds went over them, keeping them immoveable in 
 their crowded shelter and position — each succeeding 
 troop wilder and weightier than the last, until at length 
 a sullen, bellowing murmur, which before they had not 
 heard, announced the greater weight of the hurricane 
 to be overthrowing the forests in the distance. The 
 chief danger had overblown. Gradually , the warm, 
 oppressive breath passed off" ; the air again grew sud- 
 denly cool, and a gush of heavy drops came falling 
 
THE PARTISAN. -[gj^ 
 
 from (he heavens, as if they too had been just re- 
 leased from the intolerable pressure which had bur- 
 dened earth. Moaning pitifully, the prostrated trees 
 and shrubs, those which had survived the storm, though 
 shorn by its embraces, gradually, and seemingly with 
 painful effort, once more elevated themselves to their 
 old position. Their sighings, as they did so, were 
 almost human to the ears of our crouching warriors, 
 whom their movement in part released. Far and near, 
 the moaning of the forest around them was strangely, 
 but not unpleasantly, heightened in its effect upon their 
 senses, by the distant and decaying roar of the past 
 and far travelling hurricane, as, ploughing the deep 
 woods and laying waste all in its progress, it rushed 
 on* to a meeting with the kindred storms that gather 
 about the gloomy god of Cape Hatteras, and stir and 
 foam along his waters of the Atlantic. 
 
 " Well, I'm glad it's no worse, major," cried Hum- 
 phries, rising and shaking himself from the brush with 
 which he was covered. 
 
 ** The danger is now over, though it was mighty 
 close to our haunches. Look, now, at this pine, split 
 all to shivers, and the top not five feet from Mossfoot's 
 quarters. The poor beast would ha' been in a sad 
 fix a little to the left there." 
 
 Extricating themselves, they helped their steeds 
 out of the brush, though with some difficulty — soothing 
 them all the while with words of encouragement. As 
 Humphries had already remarked in his rude fashion, 
 the horse, at such moments, feels and acknowledges 
 his dependence upon man, looks to him for the bridle, 
 and flies to him for protection. They were almost 
 passive in the hands of their masters, and under the 
 unsubsided fear would have followed them, like tame 
 dogs, in any direction. 
 
 The storm, though diminished of its terrors, still 
 continued ; but this did not discourage the troopers. 
 They were soon mounted, and once more upon their 
 way. The darkness, in part, had been dissipated by 
 the hurricane. It had swept on to other regions, 
 
 Vol. I.— Q 
 
182 THE PARTI SA^N. 
 
 leaving behind- it only detached masses of wind arid 
 rain-clouds sluggishly hanging, or fitfully flying along 
 the sky. These, though still sufficient to defeat the 
 light of the moon, could not altogether prevent a strag- 
 gluig ray vi^hich peeped out timidly at pauses in the 
 storm ; and which, though it could not illumine, still- 
 contrived to diminish somewhat the gloomy and forbid- 
 ding character of the scene. Such gleams in the nat- 
 ural, are like the assurances of hope in the moral world 
 — they speak of to-morrow — they promise us that the 
 clouds must pass away — they cheer, when there is^ 
 little left to charm. 
 
 The path over which the partisans journeyed had 
 been little used, and was greatly overgi'own. They 
 could move but slowly, therefore, in the imperfect 
 light ; and, but for the frequent flashes of lightning, it 
 might have been doubtful, though Humphries knevir 
 the country, whether they could have found their way. 
 Btit the same agent which gave them light, had nearly 
 destroyed them. While Humphries, descending from 
 his steed, which he led by the bridlej was looking 
 about for a by-path that he expected to ffnd in the 
 neighbourhood, a sudden stroke of the lightning, and 
 the overwhelming blaze which seemed to kindle all 
 around them, and remained for several seconds sta- 
 tionary, drove back the now doubly terrified steeds, 
 and almost blinded their riders. That of Singleton 
 sunk upon his haunches, while Mossfoot, in her terror^ 
 dragged Humphries, who still grasped firmly his bri- 
 dle, to some little distance in the woods. Sudden, 
 blackness succeeded, save in one spot, where a tree 
 had been smitten by the fiuid,^ and was now blazing 
 along the oozy gum at its sides. The line of fire was 
 drawn along the tree, up and down — a bright flame, that 
 showed them more of the track they were pursuing 
 than they had seen before. In the first moment 
 following the cessation of the fiercer blaze made by the 
 lightning, and when the tree first began to extend a cer- 
 taiB light, Singleton thought he saw through the copse 
 the outline of a human form, on foot, moving quickly 
 
THE PARTISAN. 1 S3 
 
 •along the road above him. He called quickly to 
 Humphries, but the lieutenant was busy with his steed, 
 asid did not seem to hear. Again was the object visible, 
 and Singleton then cried out — 
 
 " Who goes there ? — ho !" 
 
 No answer ; and the fugitive only seemed to increase 
 his speed, turning aside to the denser woods, as if 
 h-e strove to elude observation. The challenge was 
 repeated. 
 
 "■ What, ho ! there — who goes ? Speak, or I shoot." 
 
 He detached one of his pistols from the holster as he 
 spoke, and cocked st to be in readiness. Still no answer, 
 the person addressed moving more quickly than ever. 
 With the sight, with an instinct like lightning, the parti- 
 san put spurs to his steed, and drove fearlessly through, 
 the bush in pursuit. Tlie fugitive now took fairly to 
 his heels, leaping over a fallen tree, fully in sight of his 
 pursuer. In a moment after, the steed went after 
 him — Humphries, by this time in saddle, closely fol- 
 lowing on the heels of his commander. For a mo- 
 ment the object was lost to sight, but in the next he 
 appeared again. 
 
 " Stand !" was the cry, and with it the shot. Tlie 
 ball rushed into the bush, which seemed to shelter 
 the flying man, and where they had last seen him — they 
 bounded to the spot, but nothing was to be seen. 
 
 " He was here — you saw him, Humphries, did y<3U 
 not r 
 
 " A bit of him, major — a small chance of him behind 
 the bush, but too little a mark for them pistols." 
 
 " He is there — there !" and catching another glimpse 
 of the fugitive. Singleton led the pursuit, again firing 
 as he flew, and, without pausing to wait the result, 
 leaping down to the spot where he appeared to them. 
 The pursuit was equally fruitless with the aim. The 
 place was bare. They had plunged into a hollow, and 
 found themselves in a sort of ditch, almost knee deep 
 in water. Th«y looked about vainly, Humphries lead- 
 ing the search with unusual earnestness. 
 
 ^'J like not, major, that the fellow should escape^ 
 
184 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 Why should he stand a shot, rather than refuse to half, 
 and answer to a civil question ? I'm dubious, major, 
 there's something wrong in it ; and he came from the 
 direction leading to our camp." 
 
 " Ha t are you sure of that, Humphries ? — think you 
 so?" 
 
 " Ay, sir — the pine that was struck marks the by- 
 path through which 1 should have carried you in 
 daylight. It is the shortest, though the worst; and h.& 
 could not have been far from it when you started him. 
 Ah ! I have it now. A mile from this is the house of 
 old Mother Blouay, the dam of that fellow Goggle. 
 We will ride there, major, if you say so." 
 
 " With what object, Humphries? wha.i has she to 
 do with it V 
 
 " I suspect the fugitive to be Goggle, the chap I 
 warned you not to take into the troop. Better we had 
 hung him up, for he's not one to depend upon. All 
 his blood's bad : his father — him they call so, at least — 
 was a horse-thief ; and some say, that he has a cross 
 in his blood. As for that, it's clear to me, that Goggl© 
 is a half-breed Indian, or mestizo, or something. Any- 
 body that looks on Goggle will say so ; and then the 
 nature of the beast is so like an Indian — why, sir^ 
 lie's got no more feeling than a pine stump.'' 
 
 "And with what motive would you ride to his 
 mother's ?" 
 
 '' Why, sir, if this skulking chap be Goggle, he*"© 
 either been there, or is on his way there ; and if so, 
 be sure he's after mischief. Proctor or Huck at the 
 garrison will soon have him among them, and hell get 
 his pay in English guineas for desertion. Now, sir, 
 it's easy to see if he's been there, for I s'pose the old 
 liag don't mind to tell us." 
 
 " Lead on ! A mile, you say ?" 
 
 " A short mile ; and if he's not been there yet, he 
 must be about somcAvhere, and we may get something 
 out of the old woman, who passes for a witch about 
 here, and tells fortunes, and can show you where to 
 find stolen cattle ; and they do say> majorj thougt^ i 
 
THE PARTISAN. 185 
 
 never believed it — they do say," and the tones of his 
 voice fell as he spoke — " they do say she can put the 
 bad mouth upon people ; and there's not a few that lay 
 all their aches and complaints to her door." 
 
 " Indeed !" was the reply of Singleton ; '' indeed ! 
 that is a sight worth seeing ; and so let us ride, Hum- 
 phries, and get out of this swamp thicket with all pos- 
 sible speed." 
 
 " A loEg leap, major, will be sure to do it. But 
 better we move slowly. I don't want to lose our 
 chance at this rascal for something ; and who knows 
 but we may catch him there. He's a great skunk, 
 now, major, that same Goggle ; and though hanging's 
 much too good for him, yet, them pistols would have 
 pleased me better had they lodged the ball more 
 closely." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 *' A hag that hell has work for — a bom slave 
 To an o'ercoming evil — venomous, vile, 
 Snake-like, that hugs the bush and bites the heelJ' 
 
 The troopers had not been well gone, before the 
 fugitive they had so vainly pursued stood upon the 
 very spot which they had left. He rose from the mire 
 of the creek, in which he had not paused to imbed 
 himself when the search was hottest and close upon 
 him. The conjecture of Humphries was correct, and 
 Goggle or Blonay was the person they had chased. 
 He had left his post in the bivouac when the storm 
 came on, and was then upon his way to his mother's 
 cabin. From that spot his farther course was to the 
 British garrison with his intelligence. His determina- 
 tion in this respect, however, underwent a change, as 
 we shall see in the progress of the narrative. 
 
 Never had better knowledge of character been 
 Q2 
 
186 THE FARTISAW, 
 
 shown than in the estimate made by Hurnphries of 
 that of the deserter. Goggle was as warped in morals 
 as he was blear in vision ; a wretch aptly fitted for the 
 horse-thief, the tory, and murderer. His objects were 
 evil generally, and he had no scruples as to the means 
 by which to secure them. Equally indifferent to him 
 what commandment he violated in these practices ; for, 
 with little regard from society, he had no sympathy with 
 it, and only obeyed its laws as he feared and would 
 avoid their penalties. He hated society accordingly 
 as he was compelled to fear it. He looked upon it as a 
 victim to be destroyed with the opportunity, as a spoil 
 to be appropriated with the desire for its attainment ; 
 and the moods of such a nature were impatient for 
 exercise, even u]X)n occasions when he could hope no 
 addition to his pleasure or his profit from their indul- 
 gence. 
 
 Squat in the ooze and water of the creek, while the 
 horse of Singleton at one moment almost stood over 
 him, he had drawn breath with difticulty through the 
 leaves of a bush growing upon the edge of the ditch 
 in which his head had found concealment ; and in this 
 perilous situation his savage spirit actually prompted 
 him to thrust his knjfe into the belly of the animal. 
 He had drawn it for this purpose from his belt, while 
 his hands and body were under water. Its point was 
 already turned upward when Singleton moved away 
 from the dangerous proximity. Here he listened to 
 the dialogue which the two carried on concerning 
 him ; and, even in that predicament of dirt and danger 
 in which he lay, his mind brooded over a thousand 
 modes by which he should enjoy his malignant appe- 
 tite, that craved for revenge upon them both. When 
 they were fairly gone, he rose from the mire and as- 
 cended cautiously to the bank ; shook himself like a 
 water-dog, while he almost shivered in the saturated 
 garments which he wore ; then rubbed and grumbled 
 over the rifle which he had taken with him into the 
 mire, and which came out as full of its ooze and water 
 as himself. 
 
THE PARTISAN. 187 
 
 " So ho !" said he, as he shook himself free from 
 the mud — " So ho ! they are gone to old Moll's to 
 look after me, eh ! Now would I lilce to put this bul- 
 let into that Dorchester skunk, Humphries, d — n him. 
 I am of bad blood, am I ! — my father a horse-thief and a 
 mulatto, and I only lit for hanging ! The words must 
 be paid for ; and Moll must answer for some of them. 
 She is my mother, that's clear — she shall tell me this 
 night who my father is ; for, Blonay, or Goggle, or the 
 devil, I will know. She shall put me off no longer. 
 No ! though she tells me the worst — though she tells 
 me that I am the spawn of Jack Drayton's driver, as 
 once before I've heard it." 
 
 Thus muttering, he looked to his flint and inspected 
 the priming of his rifle. With much chagrin he found 
 the powder saturated with water, and the charge use- 
 less. He searched his pockets, but his flask was gone. 
 He had purposed the murder of Humphries or Singleton 
 had this not been the case. He now without hesi- 
 tation took the track after them, and it was not long 
 before he came in sight of the miserable clay and log 
 hovel in which his motlier, odious and dreaded as she 
 was, passed fitly her existence. This spot was dreary 
 in the extreme : a few cheerless pines rose around it, 
 and the thick fennel waved its equally bald, though 
 more crowded forms in uncurbed vegetation among 
 them. The hovel stood in a hollow, considerably 
 below the surrounding level, and the little glimmer of 
 light piercing from between the logs only made its 
 location seem more cheerless to the observer. 
 
 Blonay — or, as we shall hereafter call him, according 
 to the fashion of the country, Goggle — cautiously ap- 
 proached a jungle, in which he hid himself, about a 
 stone's throw from the hovel. There he watched, as 
 well as he might, in the imperfect light of the evening, 
 for the appearance of the troopers. Though mounted, 
 they had not yet succeeded in reaching the spot, which, 
 familiar to him from childhood, he well knew to find 
 in the darkest night, and by a route the most direct. 
 He was there before them, snug in his cover, and coolly 
 
188 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 looking out for their coming. More than once he 
 threw up the pan of his rifle, carefully keeping it from 
 its usual click by the intervention of his finger, and 
 cursed within himself his ill fortune, as he found 
 the powder, saturated with water, a soft paste beneath 
 his touch. He thrust his hand into his pocket, seeking 
 there for some straggling grains, of which in the emer- 
 gency he might avail himself; but he looked fruitless- 
 ly, and was compelled to forego the hope of a shot, so 
 much desired, at one or other of the persons now 
 emerging from the wood before him. 
 
 The barking of a cur warned the indweller of visit- 
 ers, but without offering any obstacle to their advance. 
 Humphries proceeded first, and motioning his com- 
 panion to keep his saddle:, fastened his horse to a 
 bough, and treading lightly, looked through the crev- 
 ices of the logs, upon the old crone within. Though 
 in June, a warm season at all times in Carolina, the 
 old woman partook too much of the habits of the very 
 low in that region to be without a fire ; and with the 
 taste of the negro, she was now bending over a huge light 
 wood blaze, with a pipe of rude structure and no small 
 dimensions in her mouth, from which the occasional 
 puff went forth, filling the apartment with the unplea- 
 sant efliuvia of the vilest leaf-tobacco ; while her body 
 and head swung ever to and fro, with a regular 
 seesaw motion, that seemed an habitual exercise. 
 Her thin, shrivelled, and darkly yellow features, were 
 hag-like and discouraging. The skin was tightly 
 drawn across the face, and the high cheek-bones, and 
 the nose, seemed disposed to break through the slender 
 restraints of their covering. Her eyes were small and 
 sunken, of a light gray, and had a lively twinkle, that 
 did not accord with the wretched and decayed aspect 
 of her other features. Her forehead was small, and 
 clustered with grisly hair of mixed, white and black, 
 disordered and unbound, but still short, and with the 
 appearance of having but lately undergone clipping at 
 the extremities. These features, stern in themselves, 
 were greatly heightened in their general expression 
 
THE PARTISAN. 189 
 
 by the severe mouth and sharp chin below them. 
 The upper Hp was flat, undeveloped entirely, while 
 the lower was thrust forth in a thick curl, and, closely 
 rising and clinging to the other, somewhat lifted her 
 glance into a sort of insolent authority, which, some- 
 times accompanying aroused feeling, or an elevated 
 mood of mind, might look like dignified superiority. 
 The dress which she wore was of the poorest sort, 
 the commonest white homespun of the country, prob- 
 ably her own manufacture, and so indifferently made, 
 that it hung about her like a sack, and gave a full 
 view of the bronzed and skinny neck and bosom, 
 which a regard to her appearance might have prompted 
 her to conceal. Beside her a couple of cats of mam- 
 moth size kept up a drowsy hum, entirely undisturbed 
 by the yelping of the cur, which, from his little kennel 
 at one end of the hovel, maintained a continuous clam- 
 our at the approach of Humphries. The old woman 
 simply turned her head, for a moment, to the entrance, 
 took the pipe from her mouth, and, discharging the 
 volume of smoke which followed it, cried harshly to 
 the dog, as if in encouragement. Her call was 
 answered by Humphries, who, rapping at the door, 
 spoke civilly to the inmate. 
 
 " Now, open the door, good mother. We are friends, 
 who would speak with you. We have been caught 
 in the storm, and want you to give us house-room till 
 it's over." 
 
 " Friends ye may be, and ye may not. Down by 
 the dry branch, and through the old road to mother 
 Blonay's, is no walk that friends often take ; and if ye 
 be travellers, go ye on, for thei'e's no accommodation 
 for ye, and but litde here ye would eat. It's a poor 
 country y'are in, strangers, and nothing short of Dor- 
 chester, or it may be Rantoule's, will serve your turn 
 for a tavern." 
 
 " Now, out upon you, mother ! would you keep a 
 shut door upon us, and the rain still pouring V cried 
 Humphries, sharply. 
 
 <' Ye have been in it over long to mind it now, I 'm 
 
19Q THE PARTISAN. 
 
 thinking, and ye'd be^tter rid« it out. I have nothing 
 for ye, if ye would rob. I'm but a lane woman, and 
 a poor ; and have no plate, no silver, no fine watch, nor 
 rings, nor any thing that is worth your takings Go to 
 " The Oaks," or Middleton Place, or the old hall at 
 Archdale, or any of the fine houses ; they have plenty 
 of good picking there." 
 
 " Now, how pleasantly the old hag tells us to go and 
 steal, and she looking down, as a body may say, into 
 the very throat of the grave that's gaping after her." 
 The old woman, meanwhile, as if satisfied with what 
 she had done, resumed her pipe, and recommenced 
 her motion, to and fro, over the blaze. Humphries 
 was for a smart application of the foot to the frail door 
 that kept him out, but to this his companion refused 
 assent. 
 
 " Confound the old hag, major ; she will play with 
 "US after this fashion all the night. I know her of old, 
 and that's the only way to serve her. Nothing but 
 kicks for that breed ; civility is thrown away upon 
 them." 
 
 " No, no — you are rash ; let me speak. — I say, my 
 good woman, we are desirous of entrance ; we have 
 business, and would speak with you." 
 
 *' Business with me ! and it's a genilemau's voice 
 too ] Maybe he would have a love-charm, since there 
 are such fools ; or he has an enemy, and would have 
 a bad mouth put upon him, shall make him shrivel up 
 and die by inches, without any disease. I have 
 worked in this business, and may do more. Well, 
 there's good wages for it, and no danger. Who shall 
 see, when I beg in the rich man's kitchen, that I put 
 the poison leaf in the soup, or stir the crumbs with the 
 parching coffee, or sprinkle the powder Avith the corn 
 flour, or knead it up with the dough ? It's a safe 
 business enough, and the pay is good, though it goes 
 over soon for the way it comes." 
 
 ^' Come., come, my good woman," cried Singleton 
 impatiently, as the old beldam thus muttered to herself 
 the various secrets ©flier capacity, and strove to conjee- 
 
THE PARTISAN^ 191 
 
 tore the nature of the business which her visiters 
 had with her. " Come, come, my good woman, let 
 us in ; we are hurried, and have no little to do before 
 daylight." 
 
 " Good woman, indeed ! Well, many's the one 
 been called good with as little reason. Yes, sir, 
 coming ; my old limbs are feeble ; I do not move as 
 I used to when I was young." 
 
 Thus apologizing, with her pipe in one hand, while 
 the other undid the entrancCj Mother Blonay admitted 
 her visiters. 
 
 "So, you have been young once, mother?" said 
 Humphries, while entering. 
 
 The old woman darted a glance upon him — a stead- 
 fast glance from her little gray eyes, and the stout and 
 fearless trooper felt a chill go through his veins on 
 the instant. He knew the estimate put upon her 
 throughout the neighbourhood, as one possessed of the 
 evil eye, or rather the evil mouth ; one whose word 
 brought blight among the cattle, and whom the negroes 
 feared with a superstitious dread, as able to bring sick- 
 ness and pestilence — a gnawing disease that ate away 
 silently, until, without any visible complaint, the victim 
 perished hopelessly. Their fears had been adopted 
 in part by the whites of the lower class in the same 
 region, and Humphries, though a bold and sensible 
 fellov/, had heard of too many dreadful influences 
 ascribed to her, not to be unpleasantly startled with 
 the peculiar intensity of the stare which she put upon 
 him. 
 
 " Young !" she said, in reply ; " yes, I have been 
 young, and I felt my youth. I knew it, and I enjoyed 
 it. But I have oiulived it, and you see me now. You 
 are young, too, Bill Humphries; may you live to have 
 the same question asked you which you put to me." 
 
 •' A. cold wish, Mother Blonay ; a bitter cold wish, 
 since you should know, by your own feelings, how 
 hard it will be to outlive activity and love, and th® 
 young people that come about us. It's a sad season 
 that, mother, and may I die before it comes. But, 
 
192 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 talking of yoimg people, mother, reminds me that you 
 are not so lonesome as you say. You have your son, 
 now, Goggle." 
 
 " If his eye is blear, Bill Humphries, it's not the 
 part of good manners to speak of it to his mother. 
 The curse of a blear eye, and a blind eye, may fall 
 upon you yet. and upon yours — ay, down to your 
 children's children, for any thing we know." 
 
 " That's true, mother — none of us can say. I meant 
 no harm, but as everybody calls him Goggle — " 
 
 " The redbug be upon everybody that so calls him! 
 The boy has a name by law." 
 
 " Well, well, mother, do not be angry, and wish no 
 sores upon your neighbour's shins that you can't wish 
 off. The redbugs and the June-flies are bad enough 
 already, without orders ; and people do say you are 
 quite too free in sending such plagues upon them, for 
 little cause, or for no cause at all." 
 
 " It's a blessing that I can do it. Bill Humphries, or 
 idle rowdies, such as yourself, would harry the old 
 woman to death for their sport. It's a blessing and 
 a protection that I can make the yellowjacket and the 
 redbug leave their poison stings in the tender flesh, 
 so that the jester that laughs at the old and suffering 
 shall learn some suffering too." 
 
 " Quite a hard punishment for such an offence. 
 But, mother, they say you do more ; that you have the 
 spell of the bad mouth, that brings long sickness and 
 sudden death, and many awful troubles ; and some that 
 don't wish you well, say you love to use it." 
 
 " Do they say so ? — then they say not amiss. Think 
 you, Bill Humphries, that I should not flght with him 
 who hates me, and would destroy me if he could ? I 
 do ; and the bad mouth of Mother Blonay upon you, 
 shall make the bones in your skin ache for long 
 months after, I tell you." 
 
 " I beg, for God's sake, that you'll not put your bad 
 mouth upon me, good mother," exclaimed Humphries, 
 with ludicrous rapidity, as if he half feared the imme- 
 diate exercise of the faculty upon him. The old 
 
THE PARTISAN. 193 
 
 woman seemed pleased with this tacit acknowledg- 
 ment of her power, and she now twisted her chair 
 about so as to place herself directly in front of Sin- 
 gleton. He, meanwhile, had been closely scrutinizing 
 the apartment, Avhich was in no respects better than 
 those of the commonest negro-houses of the low 
 country. The floor was the native soil. The Avind 
 was excluded by clay, loosely thrust between the crev- 
 ices of the logs ; and an old scaffolding of poles, sup- 
 porting a few rails crossing each other, sustained the 
 mattress of moss, upon which the woman slept, un- 
 assisted seemingly, and entirely alone. A few gourds, 
 or calabashes, hung from the roof, which was scantily 
 sliingled: these contained seeds of various kinds, 
 bunches of dried thyme, sage, and other herbs and 
 plants ; and some which, by a close analysis of their 
 properties, would be found to contain a sufficient solu- 
 tion of the source from whence came her spells of 
 power over her neighbours, whether for good or evil. 
 
 Singleton had employed himself in noticing all these 
 several objects, and the probability is that the quick 
 eye of the old woman had discovered his occupation. 
 She turned her chair so as to place herself directly 
 before him, and the glance of her eye confronting his, 
 compelled him to a similar change of position. The 
 docile cats, with a sluggish effort, changed their 
 ground also ; and after circling thrice their new places 
 of repose, before laying themselves down upon it, they 
 soon resumed their even and self-satisfied slumberous 
 hum, which the movement of their mistress had inter- 
 rupted. A moment of silence intervened, during which 
 Dame Blonay employed herself in examining Sin- 
 gleton's person and countenance. He was unknown 
 to her, and a curious desire to make the acquaintance 
 of new faces, is, perhaps, as much the characteristic 
 of age as garrulity. Memory, in this way, becomes 
 stirred up actively, and the decaying mind delights in 
 such a survey, that it may liken the stranger to some 
 well known individual of former days. It is thus that 
 
 Vol. I.— R 
 
194 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 the present time continually supplies with aliment 
 the past from which it receives so much of its own. 
 The close survey did not please Singleton, who at 
 length interrupted it by resuming the subject where 
 Humphries had discoatimied it. With becoming grav- 
 ity, he asked her the question which follows, on the ex- 
 tent of her powers — 
 
 " And so, dame, you really believe that you possess 
 the power of doing what you say you can do ?" 
 
 " Ay, sir, and a great deal more. I can dry up the 
 blood in the veins of youth ; I can put the staggering 
 weakness into the bones and sinews of the strong man ; 
 I can make the heart shrink that is brave — I can put 
 pain there instead of pleasure." 
 
 " Indeed ! if you can do this, dame, you can cer- 
 tainly do much more than most of your neighbours. 
 But is it not strange, mother, that these powers are all 
 for evil? Have you no faculty for conferring good — 
 for cheering the heart instead of distressing it, and 
 giving pleasure instead of pain?" 
 
 " Ay ! I can avenge you upon your enemy !" As 
 she spoke, her form suspended its waving motion, was 
 bent forward in eagerness, and her eye glistened, 
 while her look seemed to say, " Is not that the ca- 
 pacity you would have me serve you in ?" 
 
 " That, also, is a power of evil, dame, and not of 
 good. I spoke of good, not evil." 
 
 " Not that !" she muttered, with an air of disappoint- 
 ment, while drawing herself back and resuming her 
 croning movement. " Not that ! is not revenge sweet, 
 young master — very sweet, when you have been robbed 
 and wronged for years ; trampled in the dust ; laughed 
 and sneered at ; hunted and hated : is not the moment 
 of revenge sweet ? When you see your enemy writhing 
 in pain, you put your ear down and listen to his suf- 
 fering, and your heart, that used to beat only with its 
 own sorrow, you feel is throbbing with a strange, 
 sweet joy at his — is it not sweet, ray master ?" 
 
 " Ay, sweet, dame, but, I fear me, still evil ; still not 
 
THE PARTISAN. 195 
 
 good ; Still harmful to man. Have you no better 
 powers in your collection ? none to give strength and 
 youth, and bring back health ?" 
 
 She pointed to a bunch of the smaller snake-roots 
 ■which lay in the corner, but with much seeming indif- 
 ference, as if the cure of disease formed but an humble 
 portion of her mystery and labours. 
 
 "And your art gives you power over affections, and 
 brings pleasure sometimes, mother?" 
 
 " Is it love ? — the love of the young woman — hard to 
 please, difficult to see, cold to sweet words — that you 
 would win, my young master ?" 
 
 She again bent her head towards him, and suspended 
 her motion, as if now hopeful that, in this reference, 
 she had found out the true quest of the seeker. A 
 warm glow overspread the cheek of Singleton, as in 
 answering the inquiry correctly he must necessarily 
 have confessed that such a desire was in his bosom, 
 though certainly without any resort to such practices 
 as might be looked for in her suggestion. 
 
 " Ay, indeed, such an art Avould be something to me 
 now, could it avail for any purpose — could it soften the 
 stern, and warm the cold, and make the hard to please 
 easy — but I look not for your aid, mother, to do all 
 this." 
 
 " I can do it — fear me not," said the old woman, 
 assuringly. 
 
 " It may be, but I choose not that thou shouldst. 
 I must toil for myself in this matter, and the only art 
 I may use must be that which I shall not be ashamed 
 of. But we have another quest, dame ; and upon this 
 we would have you speak honestly. You have a 
 son f ' 
 
 The old woman looked earnestly at the speaker ; and, 
 as at that moment the sabre swung off from his knee, 
 clattering its end upon the floor, she started apprehen- 
 sively, and it could be seen that she trembled. She 
 spoke after the pause of an instant. 
 
 "Sure, captain — Ned, Ned Blonay is my son. 
 
196 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 What would you tell me ? He has met with no 
 harm 1" 
 
 " None, mother — none that I can speak of," said 
 Humphries quickly ; " not that he may not have it if 
 he does not mind his tracks But tell us — when was 
 he here last, mother ? Was he not here to-night 1 and 
 when do you look for him again ?" 
 
 The apprehensions of the woman had passed off; 
 she resumed her seesaw motion, and answered indif- 
 ferently. 
 
 " The boy is his own master, Bill Humphries ; it 
 is not for an old woman like me to say for Ned Blo- 
 nay." 
 
 " What ! are you not witch enough to manage your 
 own son T Tell that to them that don't know you both 
 better. I say to you, Mother Blonay, that story wont 
 pass muster. You have seen Goggle to-night." 
 
 " And I say, Bill Humphries, tha., the tongue lies that 
 says it, though it never lied before. Go — you're a foul- 
 spoken fellow, and your bones will ache yet for that 
 same speech. Goggle — Goggle — Goggle ! as if it 
 wasn't curse enough to be blear-eyed without having 
 every dirty field-tackey whickering about it." 
 
 " Our object is not to offend, my good woman, but to 
 ask a civil question. My companion only employs 
 a name by which your son is generally distinguished 
 among the people. You must not allow him to anger 
 you, therefore, but answer a question or two civilly, 
 and we shall leave you." 
 
 " You have smooth words, captain, and I know what 
 good-breeding is. I have lived among decent people, 
 and I know very well how to behave like one if they 
 would let me ; but when such ill-spoken creatures as 
 Bill Humphries ask me questions, it's ten to one I 
 don't think it worth while to answer them ; and answer 
 I will not, except with curses, when they speak nick- 
 names for my child. I know the boy is ugly and 
 blear-:eyed. I kn.jw that his skin is yellow and shriv- 
 elled like my own, but he has suckled at these withered 
 paps, and he is my child ; and the more others hate 
 
THE PARTISAN. 197 
 
 and abuse him, the more I love him — the more I will 
 take up for him." 
 
 " Now, Mother Blonay, you needn't make such a 
 fuss about the matter. You know I meant no harm. 
 Confound the fellow, I don't care whether he has eyes 
 or not ; sure I am, I know the name which people 
 give him without minding the blear. I only want you 
 to say what you've done with him." 
 
 " You are too quick — too violent, Humphries, with 
 the old woman," said Singleton in a whisper. 
 
 " Major, don't I know her. The old hag — I see 
 through her now, jist as easy as I ever saw through 
 any thing in my life. I'll lay now she knows all 
 about the skunk." 
 
 " Perhaps so, but if she does, this is not the way to 
 get at her information." 
 
 " But little hope of that now, since she's got her 
 back up. Confound Goggle ! if I had him under a 
 stout hickory I reckon I'd make her talk to another 
 tune." 
 
 This was loud enough for the old woman, who re- 
 plied — 
 
 " Yes — you'd beat with blows and whips a far better 
 man than yourself. But go your ways, and see what 
 will come of this night's work. I have curses, have I ? 
 — if I have, you shall hear them. I have a bad mouth, 
 have 1 1 — you shall feel it. Hearken, Bill Humphries ! 
 I am old and weak, but I am strong enough to come to 
 you where you are, and whisper in your ears. As what 
 I say will do you no pleasure, you shall hear it." 
 
 And, tottering forward from her seat, she bent down 
 to the chair upon which he sat, and though he moved 
 away in an instant, he was not quick enough to avoid 
 the momentary contact of her protruded and hag-like 
 lip with his ear, that shrunk from the touch as with an 
 instinct of its own. She whispered but two words, 
 and they were loudly enough uttered for Singleton to 
 hear as well as Humphries. " Your sister — Bella 
 Humphries !" 
 
 The trooper started up as if he had been shot ; 
 R2 
 
198 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 Staggered he certainly was, and his eyes glared con- 
 fusedly upon those which she piercingly fixed upon 
 him with a hellish leer. She shook her long bony 
 finger at him, and her body, though now erect, main- 
 tained its waving motion just as when she had been 
 seated. Recovering in a moment, he advanced, ex- 
 claiming — 
 
 " You old hag of hell ! what do you mean by that ? 
 What of Bella ] what of my sister ?" 
 
 " Goggle — Goggle — Goggle — that of her ! that of 
 her !" was all the reply ; and this was followed by a 
 low chuckling laugh, which had in it something exceed- 
 ingly annoying even to Singleton himself. The trooper 
 was ferocious, and with clenched fist seemed about to 
 strike. This, when she saw, seemed to produce in 
 her even a greater degree of resolution. Instead of 
 shrinking, she advanced, folded her arms upon her 
 breast, and there was a deep organ-like solemnity in 
 her tone as she exclaimed — 
 
 " Now may the veins dry up, and the flesh wither, 
 and the sinews shrink, and the marrow leave the 
 bones ! Strike the old woman, now, Bill Humphries, 
 • — strike, if you dare !" 
 
 Singleton had already passed between the parties, 
 not, however, before he had been able to see the pro- 
 digious effect which her adjuration had produced upon 
 the trooper. His form was fixed in the advancing 
 position in which he stood when she addressed him. 
 His lips were colourless, and his eyes were fastened 
 upon her own with a steadiness which was that of 
 paralysis, and not of decision. She, on the other hand, 
 seemed instinct with life — a subtle, concentrated life. 
 The appearance of decrepitude had gone, the eye had 
 stronger fire, the limbs seemed firm on the instant, and 
 there was something exceedingly high and command- 
 ing in her position. A moment after, she sank back 
 in her chair almost exhausted — the two cats purring 
 around, having stood at her side, as if bent to co- 
 operate in her defence, on the first approach of Hum- 
 phries. He now recovered from the superstitious awe 
 
THE PARTISAN. 199 
 
 which had momentarily possessed him ; and heartily 
 ashamed of the show of violence to which her mys- 
 terious speech had provoked him, began to apologize 
 for it to Singleton. 
 
 " I know it's wrong, major, and I wasn't exactly in 
 mv sober senses, or I wouldn't have done it. But 
 there's no telling how she provoked rne ; and the fact 
 is, what she said v\ orries me no little nov ; and I 
 must know what she meant. — I say, mother — JMother 
 Blonay !" 
 
 Her eyes were fixed upon his with a dull, inexpres- 
 sive glare, that seemed to indicate the smallest possible 
 degree of consciousness. 
 
 " She is now exhausted, and cannot understand you ; 
 certainly not to satisfy your inquiries," said Singleton. 
 
 The trooper made one or two efforts more, but she 
 refused all answer, and showed her determination to 
 be silent by turning her face from them to the wall. 
 Finding nothing was to be got out of her, Singleton 
 placed beside her upon the chair a note of the conti- 
 nental currency, of large amount but for its depreciated 
 value ; then, without more words, they left the hovel to 
 its wretched tenant, both much relieved upon emerging 
 into the open air. The severity of the storm had 
 now greatly subsided ; the rain still continued falling, 
 however, and, hopeless of any farther discoveries of 
 the fugitive they had pursued, and as ignorant of his 
 character as at first, they moved onward, rapidly 
 pushing for their bivouac at the head of the Stonoe. 
 
200 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " Commune with him, and fear not. Foul though he be, 
 Thy destiny is kindred with his own, 
 And that secures thee." 
 
 They had scarcely gone from sight, when Goggle 
 entered the dwelling. The old hag started from her 
 seeming stupor, and all her features underwent a 
 change. She foadled upon her son with all the feeble 
 drivelling of age ; called him by various affectionate 
 diminutives, and busied herself, in spite of her infirmi- 
 ties, waddling about from corner to corner of the hut, 
 to administer to his desires, which were by no means 
 few. He, on the other hand, manifested the most 
 brutal indifference to all her regards, shook her off 
 rudely as she hung upon his shoulders, and, with a bois- 
 terous manner, and a speech coupled with an oath, 
 demanded his supper, at the same time throwing him- 
 self, with an air of extreme indolence, along the bed. 
 
 " And, Neddy dear, what has kept you so late 1 
 Where have you been, and whence come you last !" 
 were the repeated questions of the old woman. 
 
 " A'drat it ! mother — will you never be done asking 
 questions ? It's not so late, Fm sure." 
 
 " Later than you said ; much later, bv two hours, 
 
 "Well, if it is, what then ? It's well you have me 
 at all, for I've had a narrow chance of it. Swow ! but 
 the bullets rung over my ears too close for comfort." 
 
 " You don't say so, Ned ! What ! that stark, bull- 
 head, Humphries, has he shot at you, Ned, my son?" 
 
 " Him or Singleton, d — n 'em ! But I have a hitch 
 on him now that shall swing him. He plays 'possum 
 no longer with Huck, if you have a tongue in your 
 head, mother." 
 
THE PARTISAN. 201 
 
 '« Who— I ? What am I to do, Ned, boy ? Is it to 
 put Bill Humphries in trouble ? If it's that, I have the 
 heart to do it, if it's only for his talk to-night." 
 
 " Yes, I heard it." 
 
 " You ! Why, where were you, Ned ?" 
 
 " There." He pointed to the end of the hovel, 
 where, snugly concealed on the outside, his eye, pier- 
 cing through a hole between the logs, had witnessed 
 all that had taken place in the apartment while the 
 partisans held it. 
 
 " And you heard and saw all ?" said the old woman. 
 " You heard his foul speech, and you saw him lift his 
 hand to strike me because I spoke to him as he de- 
 served ! But he dared not — no, he dared not ! But 
 who was the other, Ned ?" 
 
 " His name's Singleton, and he's a major of the con- 
 tinentals — that's all I know about him. He took me 
 prisoner with some others of Travis's, and I joined his 
 troop, rather than fare worse. This gives me picking 
 on both sides ; for since I've joined we've had smart 
 work in skirmishing ; and down at Archdale Hall we 
 made a splash at Huck's baggage-wagons, and got good 
 spoil. See, here's a watch — true gold ! — was this 
 morning in a red-coat's fob, 's now in mine." 
 
 " It's good gold, and heavy, my son ; — will give you 
 yellow-boys enough." 
 
 "Ay, could we sell — but that's the devil. It comes 
 from a British pocket, and we can't venture to offer it 
 to any of their colour. As for the continentals, they 
 haven't got any but their ragged currency, and that no- 
 body wants. We must keep the watch for a good 
 chance, for that and other reasons. I took it from a 
 prisoner by sleight of hand, and it must not be known 
 that I have it, on either side. Proctor would punish, 
 and the young fellow Singleton, who has an eye like a 
 hawk, he would not stop to give me a swinging bough 
 if he thought I took it from one of his prisoners." 
 
 " Give it to me, boy ; I'll save you that risk." 
 
 " You shall do more, mother ; but first get the sup- 
 per. I'm hellish hungry, and tired out with the chaao 
 
202 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 I've had. A'drat it ! my bones are chilled with the 
 mud and water." 
 
 " There's a change in the chest, boy, beside you. 
 Put the wet clothes off." 
 
 " It's too troublesome, and they'd only get wet too ; 
 for I must start back to the camp directly." 
 
 " What camp ?" 
 
 " Singleton's — down at Slick Ford on the Stonoe 
 head. I must be there, and let him see me, or he'll 
 suspicion me, and move off. You will have to carry the 
 message to Proctor." 
 
 " What, boy ! will you go back and put your neck 
 in danger? Suppose he finds you missing?" 
 
 " Well, I'll tell him the truth, so far as the truth will 
 answer the purpose of a lie. Fll say I came to see 
 you, and, having done so, have come back to my duty. 
 They cannot find fault, for the troopers every now and 
 then start off without leave or license. Fm only a vol- 
 unteer, you see." 
 
 " Take care, boy ; you will try the long lane once 
 too often. They suspect you, now, I know from the 
 askings of that fellow Humphries ; and him too, the 
 other — what's his name ? — ^he, too, asked closely after 
 you." 
 
 " Singleton. I heard him." 
 
 " What Singleton is that, boy ? Any kin to the 
 Singletons hereaway in St. Paul's ?" 
 
 " No, I believe not. He's from the ' High Hills,' 
 they say, though he has friends at ' The Oaks.' It 
 was there he went to-night. But the supper, mother 
 — is it all ready ?" 
 
 " Sit and eat, boy. There's hoecake and bacon, and 
 some cold collards." 
 
 " Any rum ?" he inquired, rising sluggishly from the 
 bed, and approaching the little table which, while the 
 preceding dialogue had been going on, his mother had 
 supplied with the condiments enumerated. She handed 
 him the jug, from which, undiluted, he drank freely, 
 following the stronger liquid with a moderate draught 
 from the gourd of water which she handed him at the 
 
THE PARTISAN. 205 
 
 same moment. While he ate, he muttered occasionally 
 to his mother, who hung around him all the while in 
 close attendance, regarding the besmeared, sallow, and 
 disfigured wretch with as much affection as if he had 
 been the very choicest of all God's creatures. Such 
 is the heart, erring continually in its appropriation of 
 sympathies, which, though intrinsically they may be 
 valueless, are yet singularly in proof of that care of 
 nature, which permits no being to go utterly unblest by 
 its regard, and denies the homestead, however lowly, 
 none of its soothing and its sunshine. 
 
 Goggle had eaten, and now, like a gorged snake, 
 he threw himself once more at length upon the couch 
 that stood in the corner, grumbling, as he did so — 
 
 " A'drat it ! I hate to go out again ! But I must — I 
 must go back to camp, to blind Singleton ; and as for 
 that fellow Humphries, hear you, mother — I was in the 
 ditch by Coburn's corner when he came upon me, and 
 just about to cross it. They called out, and crack, 
 crack went their pistols, and the balls both times 
 whizzed close above my head. It was then they gave 
 chase, and I lay close, and hugged the hollow. Sin- 
 gleton's horse stood right across me, and I expected 
 his hoofs every moment upon my back." 
 
 " You don't say so, Neddy !" 
 
 " Ay, but I do — but that's not it. The danger was 
 something, to be sure, but even then I could listen — ^I 
 could listen — I could hear all they said ; and I had 
 reason to listen, too, for it was of me Humphries 
 spoke. The keen chap suspected me to be the man 
 they chased, though they could not make me out ; and 
 so he spoke of me. Can you count up what he said, 
 mother?" 
 
 " No, Neddy ; how shoidd I V 
 
 " What ! and you tell fortunes, too, and bewitch, so 
 that all of them call you cattle-charmer, yet you can't 
 tell what Bill Humphries spoke about then !" 
 
 " No, sure not : some foul speech, I reckon, consid- 
 ering he spoke it." 
 
 " Ay, foul speech enough, if you knew. But the 
 
204 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 long and short of it, mother, is this, and I put the ques- 
 tion to you plainly, and expect you to answer plainly — " 
 
 " What do you mean, my son ?" 
 
 " Ay, that's it — I'm your son, I believe that ; but tell 
 me, and tell me truly — who was my father ? It was 
 of that that Humphries spoke. He spoke for all the 
 country round, and something, too, I've heard of be- 
 fore. He said I was no better than my father ; that he 
 was a horse-thief, and, what was worse, that I had a 
 cross in my blood. Speak, now, mother — speak out 
 truly, for you see I'm in no passion ; for, whether it's 
 true or not, I will have it out of him that spoke it, be- 
 fore long, some way or other. If it's true, so much 
 the worse for him, for I can't cut your throat, mother 
 — I can't drink your blood ; but what I can do, I will, 
 and that is, have the blood of the man that knows and 
 speaks of your misdoings." 
 
 That affectionate tenderness of manner which she 
 had heretofore shown throughout the interview, passed 
 away entirely with this inquiry of Goggle. She was 
 no longer the mother of her son. A haggard scorn was 
 in every feature — a hellish revival of angry passions, 
 of demoniac hate, and a phrensied appetite. As she 
 looked upon the inquirer, who, putting such a question, 
 yet lay, and seemingly without emotion, sluggishly at 
 length upon the couch, her ire seemed scarcely re- 
 strainable — her figure seemed to dilate in every part — 
 and, striding across the tloor with a rapid movement, 
 hostile seemingly to the generally enfeebled appear- 
 ance of her frame, she stood directly before, and looking 
 down upon him — 
 
 " And are you bent to hearken to such foul words 
 of your own mother, bringing them home to my ears, 
 when your bullet should have gone through the head 
 of the speaker ?" 
 
 " All in good time, mother. The bullet should have 
 gone through his head but for an accident. But it's 
 well it did not. He would have died then in a moment. 
 When I kill him, now, he shall feel himself dying, I 
 warrant." 
 
THE PARTISAN. 205 
 
 " It is well, boy. Such a foul speaker should have 
 a death of terror — he deserves it. " 
 
 " Ay, but that's neither here nor there, mother, — • 
 you have not answered my question. Speak out ; was 
 I born lawfully ?" 
 
 " Lawfully ! — and what care you, Ned Blonay, about 
 the lawfulness or the unlawfulness of your birth — you 
 who hourly fight against the laws — who rob, who burn, 
 ■who murder, whenever a chance offers, and care not ? 
 Is it not your pleasure to break the laws — to live on 
 the profits and the property of others ? Whence came 
 the purse you brought here last week, but from the 
 red-coat who travelled with you as a friend, and you, 
 all the time, receiving pay from his people ? Whence 
 came this watch you just now put into my hands, 
 but from your prisoner ? and the hog of which you ate 
 for supper, your own rifle shot it in the swamp, although 
 you saw the double fork in the ear, and the brand on 
 its quarter, which told you it belonged to Squire Wal- 
 ton, at ' The Oaks V — what do you care about the laws, 
 then, that you would have me answer your question ?" 
 
 " Nothing ; I don't care that for all the laws in the 
 country — not that ! But still I wish to know the truth 
 of this matter. It's for my pleasure. I like to know 
 the truth ; Avhether I mind it or not is another thing." 
 
 " Your pleasure, boy — your pleasure ! and what if I 
 tell you that Humphries spoke true — that you are — " 
 
 " A bastard ! speak it out — I want to hear it ; and it 
 will give me pleasure — Hove that which provokes me. 
 I can smile when one does me an injury — smile all the 
 time I bear it quietly, for I think of the time when I'm 
 to take pay for it. You don't understand this, perhaps, 
 and I can't give you any reason to make it more plain. 
 But so I do — and when Humphries had done speaking, 
 I v/ould have given something handsome to have had 
 him talk it over again. When I have him in my power, 
 he shall do so." 
 
 " The Indian blood !" was the involuntary exclama- 
 tion of the old woman. 
 
 " Ha ! what's that, mother 1" 
 
 Vol. I.— S 
 
206 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 " Ask me not." 
 
 " Ay, but I will — I must ; and hear me once for all 
 
 — you tell me the truth, on the instant, or you never see 
 
 my face again. I'll go to the Indies with Sir Charles 
 
 ' Montague, that's making up a regiment in Charlestown 
 
 for that country." 
 
 " Beware, boy — ask me not — any thing else. You 
 will hate me if 1 tell you. You will leave me for ever." 
 
 "No — don't be afraid. Come, speak out, and say 
 — was my father's name Blonay ?" 
 
 " Blonay was my lawful husband, boy, when you 
 were born," said the woman, evasively. 
 
 " Ay, that may be well enough," he exclaimed, " yet 
 I be no son of his. Speak the truth, mother, and no 
 two bites of a cherry. Out with it all — you can't vex 
 me by telling it. Look here — see this wound on my 
 arm — when it begins to heal, I rub it until it unscars 
 and grows red and angry again. I like the pain of it. 
 It's strange, I know, but it's my pleasure ; and so I look 
 to be pleased with the story you shall tell me. Was 
 Blonay my father l" 
 
 " He was not." 
 
 " Good ! — who was ?" 
 
 " Ask no more." 
 
 " Ay, but I will — I must have it all — so speak on." 
 
 " I will not speak it aloud — I will not. I have 
 sworn it." 
 
 " You must imswear it. I cannot be trifled with. 
 You must tell me the secret of my birth, and all. I 
 care not how dark, how foul, how unlawful — you must 
 suppress nothing. This night must give me the knowl- 
 edge which I have wanted before — this night you speak 
 it freely, or lose me for ever." 
 
 The woman paced the apartment convulsively, un- 
 dergoing, at every moment, some new transition, from 
 anger and impatience to entreaty and humbleness. 
 Now she denounced the curiosity of her son, and now 
 she implored his forgiveness. But she cursed or im- 
 plored in vain. He lay coolly and sluggishly, utterly 
 unmoved, at length, upon the bed ; heedless of all her 
 
THE PARTISAN. 207 
 
 words, and now and then simply assuring her that 
 nothing would suffice but the true narrative of all that he 
 wished to know. Finding evasion hopeless, the old 
 woman seemed to recover her own coolness and 
 strength with the resolve which she had taken, and 
 after a little pause for preparation, she began. 
 » " Ned Blonay, it is now twenty -nine years since you 
 were born — " 
 
 " Not quite, mother, not quite, — twenty-eight and 
 some seven months. Let's see, November, you re- 
 member, was my birthday, and then I was but twenty- 
 eight ; but go on, it's not important — " 
 
 " Twenty-eight or twenty-nine, it matters not which 
 — you were born lawfully the son of John Blonay, and 
 as such he knew and believed you. Your true father 
 was an Indian of the Catawba nation, who passed 
 through the Cypress the year before on his way to the 
 city." 
 
 " Go on — the particulars." 
 
 " Ask not that — not that, boy ; I pray ye — " 
 
 " All— all." 
 
 " I will not — I cannot — it was my badness. I will 
 not speak it aloud for worlds." 
 
 " Speak it you must, but you may whisper it in my 
 ears. Stoop — " 
 
 She did so, passively as it were, and in a low tone, 
 broken only by her own pauses and his occasional 
 exclamations, she poured into his ear a dark, foul 
 narrative of criminal intercourse, provoked on her part 
 by a diseased appetite, resulting, as it would seem in 
 puni.shment, in the birth of a monster like himself. 
 Yet he listened to it, if not passively, at least without 
 any show of emotion or indignation ; and as she fin- 
 ished, and hurrying away from him threw herself into 
 her old seat, and covered her face with her hands, he 
 simply thrust his fingers into the long straight black 
 hair depending over his eyes, which seemed to carry 
 confirmatory evidence enough for the support of 
 the story to which he had listened. He made no 
 Other movement, but seemed, for a while, busy in reflec- 
 
208 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 tion. She every now and then looked towards him 
 doubtfull)'', and with an aspect which had in it some- 
 thing of apprehension. At length, rising, though with 
 an air of effort, from his couch, he took a paper 
 from his pocket which he studied a little while by the 
 blaze in the chimney, then approaching her, he spoke 
 in language utterly unaffected by what he had heard — 
 
 " Hark ye, mother: I shall now go back to the camp. 
 It's something of a risk, but nothing risk, nothing gain ; 
 and if I run a risk, it's for something. I go back to blind 
 Singleton, for I shall tell him all the truth about my 
 coming here. He won't do any thing more than scold 
 a little, for the thing's common ; but if he should — " 
 
 " What, my son 1 — speak !" 
 
 " No," he inuUered to himself, " no danger of that — 
 he dare not. But you come, mother, — come to Slick 
 Ford by sunrise, and see what you can. You'll be able 
 to prove I was with you after the storm, and that'll clear 
 me ; then you can go to Dorchester, make all haste, and 
 with this paper, see Proctor, and put it in his own 
 hands yourself. There's some news in it he will bs 
 glad to pay for. It tells him something about the camp ; 
 and that about Col. Walton, shall make him fly from 
 ' The Oaks,' as an old owl from the burning cypress. 
 You can also tell him what you see at Singleton's, and so 
 use your eyes when you come there. Mind, too, if you 
 see Huck or any of his men, keep dark. He would 
 chouse you out of all the pay, and get the guineas for 
 himself; and you might whistle for your share." 
 
 He gave her a dirty paper as he spoke, in which he 
 had carefully noted down every particular relating to his 
 new service, the force, the deeds, and the camp of 
 Singleton — all that he thought would be of value to the 
 enemy. She heard him, but did not approve of his 
 return to the camp. The conference with Singleton 
 and Humphries, together with the undisguised hostility 
 of the latter, had tilled her mind with troublesome ap- 
 prehensions ; and she warned her son accordingly ; but 
 he took little heed of her counsel. 
 
 " I'm bent upon it, mother, for it's a good business. 
 
THE PARTISAN. 209 
 
 You come — that's all, and say when and where you've 
 seen me to-night. Come soon — by smirise, and I'll 
 get off clear, and stand a better chance of being 
 trusted by the commander." 
 
 " And Bill Humphries ?" 
 
 " Ah ! he must have his swing. Let him. The dog 
 swallows his legs at last, and so will he. I only wait 
 the time, and shall then shut up his mouth in a way shall 
 be a lesson to him fcr ever — in a way he shan't forget, 
 and shan't remember. He shall feel me before long." 
 
 " And he shall feel me too, the reprobate ; he shall 
 know that I have a power, though he laughs at it." 
 
 " A'drat it, but its dark, mother ; a thick cloud's yet 
 over the moon, and but a sloppy path for a shy foot, 
 but it must be done. There's some old hound yelp- 
 ing yonder in the woods ; he don't like being out any 
 more than myself." 
 
 " You will go, Ned !" and the old woman's hand was 
 on his shoulder. He shoved it off with something of 
 hurry, while he answered — 
 
 " Yes, yes ; and be sure you come, and when you 
 have helped me out of the scrape, go, off-hand, to 
 Proctor. See him — don't let them put you off. He 
 will pay well and not chouse you, for he's a true gen- 
 tleman. Good-night — good-night." 
 
 She watched him from the doorway until he was 
 completely lost from sight in the adjacent forest. 
 
 CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 " Oh cruel ! and the shame of such a wound, 
 Makes in the heart a deeper gash than all 
 It made upon the form." 
 
 Singleton and Humphries were hailed as they ap- 
 proached the patrols, by the voice of Lance Frampton, 
 the younger sou of the maniac. He had volunteered 
 
210 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 to fill the post which had been deserted by Goggle. 
 He told them of his absence, and was gratified by 
 receiving from his commander a brief compliment 
 upon his precision and readiness. Such approval was 
 grateful to the boy, coming from Singleton ; for the 
 gentle manner of the Ifter had already won greatly 
 on his affections. The boy, though but fifteen, was 
 manly and fearless, full of ambition, and very prom- 
 ising. He rode well, and could use his rifle already 
 with the best shots of the country. The unsettled life 
 of the partisan warrior did not seem to disagree with 
 his tender years, so far as he had already tried it ; and his 
 cheerless fortunes, indeed, almost denied him the choice 
 of any other. Still, though manly in most respects, 
 something of sadness rested upon his pale counte- 
 nance, which was soft like that of a girl, and quite 
 unlike the bronzed visages common to the sunny region 
 in which he had been born and lived. In addition to 
 the leading difference between himself and the people 
 of his own condition around him, his tastes were nat- 
 urally fine, his feelings delicate and susceptible, his 
 impressions acute and lasting. He inclined to Major 
 Singleton intuitively, as the manly freedom, and ease 
 of deportment, for which his commander was distin- 
 guished, were mingled with a grace, gentleness, and 
 pleasant propriety, to which his owi» nature insensibly 
 beguiled him. He saluted them, as we have already 
 said,wUh becoming modesty, unfolded his intelligence, 
 and then quietly sank back to his position. 
 
 Humphries did not seem much surprised at the 
 mtelligence. 
 
 "As I expected," he said; " it's the nature of the 
 beast. The fellow was a born skunk, and he will die 
 one. There's no mending that sort of animal, major, 
 and there's little use, and some danger, to waste time 
 on it." 
 
 " How long is it, Lance, since his departure became 
 known to Lieutenant Davis ?" was the inquiry of Sin- 
 gleton. 
 
 "Not a half-hour, sir. When Lieutenant Davis 
 
THE FARTISAK". '211 
 
 •WBirt the i-ounds, sir, to relieve him, the place was 
 -empty, and he said Goggle must have gone before 
 the storm came up." 
 
 " Had you the storm here, Lance ?" inquired Hum- 
 phries. 
 
 " Not much of it, sir. It swept more to the left, 
 and must have been heavy where it went, for the roaring 
 of the wind was louder here than it felt. The trees 
 doubled a little, but didn't give — only some that had the 
 hearts eaten out. They went down, sir, at the first 
 push of the hurricane." 
 
 Singleton conferred briefly Vv^ith Humphries, and 
 then despatched the boy to Davis, with instructions to 
 place the party in moving order by sunrise — ^^the two 
 officers, riding more slowly in the same direction, con- 
 ferred upon future arrangements. 
 
 " That fellow's absence, Humphries, will compel us 
 to change our quarters, for his only object must be to 
 carry the news to Dorchester." 
 
 " That's it, for certain, major ; and the sooner we 
 move the better. By midday to-morrow. Proctor and 
 Huck, and the whole of 'em would be on our haunches, 
 and we only a mouthful. A start by the time the sun 
 squints on the pine tops, sir, would do no harm; and 
 then, if you move up to Moultrie's old camp at Bacon's 
 bridge, it will be far enough to misguide them for the 
 present. From the bridge, you see, you can make the 
 swamp almost at any moment, and yet it's not so far 
 but you can get to ' The Oaks' soon as ever Proctor 
 turns back upon Dorchester." 
 
 " What force has he there, think you ?" 
 
 " Not enough to go far, sir, or stay out long. The 
 garrison's but slim, and Huck is for the up country, I 
 heard him say. He may give you a drive before he 
 goes, for he is mighty ready to please Proctor ; but 
 then he goes by Monk's corner, and so on up to Nel- 
 son's ferry ; and it will be out of his way to set upon 
 you at Moultrie's." 
 
 " Why does he take that route, when his course is 
 for the Catawba ?" 
 
212 THE PARTI &AW- 
 
 " Ha ! sir, you don't know Huck. He's an oW 
 scout, and knows where the best picking lies. H« 
 goes along that route, sir, skimming it like so much 
 cream as he goes ; and wo to the housekeeper, loyalist 
 or whig, that gives him supper, and shows him too 
 much plate. Huck loves fine things ; and for that 
 matter, plunder of any kind never goes amiss with a 
 tory." 
 
 " True ; and the course he takes through Sumter, 
 gives him spoil enough, if he dares touch it ; but 
 Marion will soon be at Nelson's, where we hope to 
 meet him. Let us ride on now, and see to our move- 
 ment." 
 
 " With your leave, now, major, 111 go back to Dor- 
 chester." 
 
 "With what object?" 
 
 " Why, sir, only, as one may say, to curse and quit. 
 That rascal Goggle will be in Proctor's quarters by 
 daylight, and will soon have a pretty story for the 
 colonel. I must try and get there before him, so as to 
 stop a little the blow. Since it must come, it needn'i 
 come on anybody's head but mine ; and if I can keep 
 my old father from trap, why, you see, sir, it's my 
 born duty to do so." 
 
 " How will you do that ?" 
 
 " I'll tell you, sir. Dad shall go to Proctor before 
 Goggle, and shall denounce me himself. He shall 
 make something out of the Englishman by his loyalty, 
 and chouse Goggle at the same time. Besides, sir, he 
 will be able to tell a truer story, for he shall say that 
 we've gone from the Stonoe, which, you know, will 
 be the case by that time. So, if he looks for us there, 
 as Goggle will advise mm, the old man will stand 
 better than ever in the good graces of the enemy ; 
 and will be better able to give us intelligence, and 
 help our cause." 
 
 " But will your father like such a mission ?" 
 
 " Like it, major ! why, aint I his son — his only 
 son — and won't he do, think you, what I ask him ? ^% 
 be sure he will. You will see." 
 
 't' 
 
THE PARTISAN. 213 
 
 " The plan is good, and reminds me of Pry or. You 
 will see him, and hurry his recruiting". Say to him, 
 from me, how much Col. Marion expects from him, as, 
 indeed, the letter I gave him has already persuaded 
 him. Remind him of that letter, and let him read it 
 to you. . This will please him, and prompt to new 
 efforts, should he prove dull. But let him be quiet — ■ 
 nothing impatient, till Colonel Walton is prepared to 
 start. Only keep in readiness, and wait the signal. 
 For yourself, when you have done this, delay nothing, 
 and risk nothing in Dorchester. You have no plea if 
 found out ; and they will hang you off-hand as soon as 
 taken. Follow to Bacon's bridge as soon as possible, 
 and if you find me not there, I am either in the swamp, 
 or in the south towards the Edisto ; possibly on the 
 road to Parker's ferry. I wish to keep moving to baffle 
 any pursuit." 
 
 Protracted but little longer, and only the better to 
 perfect their several plans, the conference was at 
 length concluded, and the two separated ; the one pro- 
 ceeding to his bivouac, and the other on his journey 
 of peril, along the old track leading to the bridge of 
 Dorchester. 
 
 Singleton had scarcely resumed command of his 
 squad before the fugitive Ciroggle stood before him, 
 with a countenance cold and impassive as ever, and 
 with an air of assurance the most easy and self-satis- 
 fied. The eye of the partisan was concentrated upon 
 him with a searching glance, sternly and calmly, but 
 he shrunk not beneath it. 
 
 " You have left your duty, sir — your post ; what 
 have you to say V 
 
 The offender frankly avowed his error, but spoke 
 in extenuation- 
 
 " The storm was coming up, sir ; nobody was going 
 to trouble us, and I thought a little stretch to the old 
 woman — my mother, sir, that is — would do no harm." 
 
 " You were wrong, sir, and must be punished. 
 Your duty was to obey, not to think. Lieutenant 
 Davis, a corporal's guard !" 
 
214 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 Goggle looked somewhat astounded at this prompt 
 movement, and urged the measure as precipitate and 
 unusual. 
 
 " But, major, the troopers go off continually from 
 Col. Washington's troop, when they want to see their 
 families — " 
 
 " The greater the necessity of arresting it in ours ; 
 but you will make your plea at morning, for with the 
 sunrise you shall be examined." 
 
 The guard appeared, and as the torch flamed above 
 the head of the fugitive, Singleton ordered him to be 
 searched narrowly. With the order, the ready soldiers 
 seized upon and bound him. His rifle was withdrawn 
 from his grasp — a measure inexpressibly annoying t» 
 the offender, as it was a favourite weapon, and he an 
 excellent shot with it. In the close search which he 
 underwent, his knife, and, indeed, everything in his> 
 possession, was carefully withdrawn, and he had reason 
 to congratulate himself upon the timely delivery of 
 the stolen watch to his mother ; for the prisoner from 
 whom it had been taken had already announced its 
 loss : and had it been found upon the thief, it would 
 have been matter, under the stern policy pursued by 
 Singleton, for instantly hurrying him to some one of 
 the thousand swinging boughs overhead. With the 
 clear daylight, a court martial at the drum-head sat in 
 judgment on the prisoner. He told his story with a 
 composure that would have done credit to innocence. 
 There was no contradiction in his narrative. Sin- 
 gleton proposed sundry questions. 
 
 '■'Why did you not stand when called to T' 
 
 " I was but one, major, and you were two ; and 
 when the British and tories are thick about us, it 
 stands to reason that it was them calling. I didn't 
 make out your voice." 
 
 " And why did you not proceed directly to your 
 mother's ? why let so much time elapse between the 
 pursuit and your appearance at her cabin ?" 
 
 " I lay close after they had gone, major, for I dida*^ 
 know that they had done looking after meJ' 
 
THE PARTISAN. 215 
 
 iPronipt and ready were his several responses, and, 
 fepart from the initial offence of leaving his post, 
 nothing could be ascertained calculated to convict 
 him of any other error. In the mean time he ex- 
 hibited no more interest in the scene than in the most 
 ordinary matt-er. One side of his body, as was its 
 wont, rested upon the other ; one leg hung at ease, 
 and his head, sluggish like the rest of his person, was 
 bent over, so as to lie on his left shoulder. At this 
 stage of the proceedings, his mother, whose anxieties 
 had been greater on the subject than those of her son, 
 now made her appearance, tottering towards the 
 group with a step in which energy and feebleness 
 were strangely united. Her first words were those of 
 reproach to Singleton : — 
 
 " Now, wherefore, gentleman, do you bind the boy ? 
 Is it because he loves the old woman, his own mother ? 
 Oh, for shame ! it's a cruel shame to do so ! Will you 
 not loose the cord?" 
 
 She hobbled over to the place where her son stood 
 alone, and her bony fingers were for a moment busied 
 with the thongs, as if she strove to release him. The 
 prisoner himself twisted from her, and his repulse was 
 not confined to his action. 
 
 " A'drat it, mother ! have done. Say it out what you 
 know, and done with it." 
 
 " What can you say, dame, in this matter?" inquired 
 Singleton. 
 
 " It's my son you tie with ropes — it's a good son to 
 rae — will you not loose him f 
 
 " He has done wrong, dame ; he has left his post, 
 and has neglected his duty." 
 
 " He came to see his mother — his old mother ; to 
 bring her comfort, for he had been long away, and she 
 looked for him — she thought he had had wrong. Was 
 there harm in this ?" 
 
 " None, only as he had other duties, not less impor- 
 tant, which he sacrificed for it. But say what you 
 know." 
 
 She did so, and confirmed his story ; was heard 
 
216 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 patiently through a somewhat tedious narrative, m 
 which her own feelings, and a strange show of love- 
 for the indifferent savage, were oddly blended with the 
 circumstances which she told. Though unavailing to 
 save him from punishment, the evidence of his mother^ 
 and her obvious regard, had the effect of modifying its 
 severity. The court found him guilty, and sen- 
 tenced him to the lash. Twenty lashes, and an im- 
 prisonment in the discretion of the commander, were 
 decreed as his punishment. 
 
 Along howl — a shriek of demoniac energy— from the 
 old woman, as she heard the doom, rung in the ears 
 of the party. Her long skinny finger was uplifted in 
 vain threatenings, and her lips moved in vague adjura- 
 tions and curses. Singleton regretted the necessity 
 which made him sanction the decree, but example was 
 necessary in the lax state of discipline at that time 
 prevailing tliroughout the country. Marion, who wa& 
 himself just and inflexible, had made him a disciplin- 
 arian. 
 
 " You will not say ' Yes' to this," cried the old 
 woman to Singleton. " You are a gentleman, and 
 your words are kind. You will forgive the boy." 
 
 "I dare not, dame. The punishment is already 
 slight in comparison with that usually given for an 
 offence so likely to be fatal as this of which your son^ 
 has been guilty. He must submit." 
 
 The old woman raved furiously, but her son rebuked 
 her. His eyes were thrown up obliqitely to the com- 
 mander, and the expression of his face was that of a 
 sneaking defiance, as he rudely enough checked her 
 in her denunciations. 
 
 " Hold tongue, mother — a'd?at it ! Can't you thank 
 the gentlemen for their favoar ?" 
 
 A couple of soldiers strapped him up ; when, having 
 first taken off his outer jacket, one of them, with a 
 Gommon wagon-whip, prepared to execute the sentence, 
 while the old woman, almost in danger from the lash^ 
 pressed closely to the criminal, now denouncing and 
 HOW imploring the court ; at one moment abusing her 
 
The partisan. 21? 
 
 son for his folly in returning to the camp, and the next, 
 with salt tears running down her withered cheeks, 
 seeking to sooth and condole with him in his sufferings. 
 They would have removed her from the spot before the 
 punishment began, but she threw herself upon the earth 
 when they attempted it, and would only rise when 
 they forbore the effort. He, the criminal, was as im- 
 passive as ever. Nothing seemed to touch him, either 
 in the punishment he was to receive, or the agonizing 
 sensations which he witnessed in his mother, and 
 which were all felt in his behalf^ He helped the sol- 
 diers to remove his vest, and readily turned his back 
 towards them, while, obliquely over his shoulder, his 
 huge staring eyes were turned to the spot where Sin- 
 gleton stood, with glance averted from the scene of 
 ignominy. 
 
 The first stroke was followed by a piercing shriek 
 from the old woman — a bitter shriek and a curse ; but 
 with tha stroke she began counting the blows. 
 
 " One" — " two" — her enumeration perpetually bro- 
 ken by exclamations of one sort or another — now of 
 pity, now of horror, denunciation, and the most impotent 
 expressions of paralytic rage — in son^e such phrases as 
 the following : — "The poor boy! — his mother never 
 whipped him ! — they will murder him ! — two — for 
 he came to see her — three — was ever the like to 
 whip a son for this ! — four — God curse them ! God 
 curse them ! — five — I can curse, too, that I can — they 
 shall feel me, they shall hear me ! — six, seven — that 
 is eight — nine. Oh, the wretches ! but bear up, Ned, 
 bear up — it is half over — that is ten — my poor boy ! 
 Oh, do not strike so hard ! Look ! the red on the 
 shirt — it is blood ! Oh, wretches ! have you no 
 mercy 1 — it is most done — there, there — stop ! Hell 
 blast you for ever ! — that was twenty. Why did you 
 strike another 1 1 cxirse you with a black curse for 
 that other stroke ! You ragged imp ! — you vile pole- 
 cat ! — I curse you for that stroke !" 
 
 The execution was over. Unflinching to the last, 
 though the strokes were severely dealt, the criminal 
 
 Vol. I.— T 
 
218 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 had borne them. He looked the very imbodiment of 
 callosity. His muscles were neither composed nor 
 rigid during the operation ; and though the flesh evi- 
 dently felt, the mood of the wretch seemfed to have' 
 undergone no change. Before he could yet be freed 
 from the cords, his mother's arms were thrown around 
 him ; and though he strove to shake her oflT, and shrunk 
 from her embraces, yet she persisted, and, with a child- 
 ish fondness, she strove, with kind words, while help- 
 ing him on with his jacket, to console him for his 
 sufTeringg. 
 
 *' And you will go with me now, Neddy— you will 
 go from these cruel men ?" 
 
 " I cannot, mother ; don't you know I'm to be under 
 guard so long as the major chooses V 
 
 " He will not — you will not tie him again ; you will 
 let him go now with his mother." 
 
 She turned to Singleton as she spoke ; but his eye 
 refused her ere his tongue replied — 
 
 " He will be in custody for twelve hours ; and let 
 me say to you, dame, that for such an offence his pun- 
 ishment is a very slight one. Marion's men would 
 suffer two hundred lashes, and something more re- 
 straint, for the same crime." 
 
 " God curse him !" she said, bitterly, as she again 
 approached her son, with whom she conversed apart. 
 He whispered but a word in her ear, and then turned 
 away from her ; she looked after him a moment, as 
 the guard marched him into the rear, but her finger 
 was uplifted towards Singleton, and the fierce fire 
 shooting out from her gray eye, and moving in the 
 direction of the pointed finger, was long after remem- 
 bered by him. In a few moments more, she was 
 gone from the camp, and, with a degree of elasticity 
 scarcely comporting with her years, was trudging fast 
 on her way to Dorchester. 
 
 Waiting until she had fairly departed, Singleton at 
 length left his lodge on the Stonoe, and leaving no trace 
 of his sojourn but the dying embers of his fires, he led 
 the way towards the designated encampment at Bacon's 
 
THE PARTISAN. 219 
 
 Bridge. This was a few miles above Dorchester, on 
 the same river, and immediately contiguous to the Cy- 
 press Swamp. An old battery and barracks, built by 
 General Moultrie, and formerly his station, prior to the 
 siege of Charlestown, furnished a much more comfort- 
 able place of abode than that which he had just vaca- 
 ted. Here he took that repose Avhich the toils of the 
 last twenty-four hours rendered absolutely necessary. 
 
 CHAPTER XVni. 
 
 " Let her pulse beat a stroke the more or less 
 And she were blasted. I will stand by this ; 
 My judgment is her fear." 
 
 Leaving Singleton as we have seen, as soon as the 
 absence of Goggle from camp was certainly known, 
 Humphries hurried on his returning route to the village 
 of Dorchester. Cool and calculating, but courageous, 
 the risk which he ran was far from inconsiderable. 
 How could he be sure he was not already suspected ; 
 how know that some escaping enemies had not seen 
 and given intelligence of his presence among the 
 I'ebels ; and why should not the fugitive be already in 
 the garrison with Proctor preparing the schemes which 
 were to wind about and secure him 1 These questions 
 ever rose in his mind as he surveyed his situation 
 and turned over his own intentions ; but though strong 
 enough as doubts, they were not enough to turn him 
 from a purpose which he deemed good and useful, if 
 not absolutely necessary. He dismissed them from 
 his thoughts, therefore, as fast as they came up. He 
 was a man quite too bold, too enterprising to be dis- 
 couraged and driven from his plans by mere suggestions 
 of risk ; and whistling, as he went, a merry tune, he 
 dashed forward through the woods, and was soon out 
 of the bush and on the main road of the route — not 
 
220 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 far from the spot where, in the pause of the storm, they 
 had stumbled upon the half-blood, Blonay. 
 
 The tree which the lightning had stricken just beside 
 the path, was , still in flame. The rain could not 
 quench it, as the rich lightwood, traced through every 
 cavity of the bark by the greedy fire, furnished a fuel 
 pot easily extinguishable. The flame licked along the 
 sides, at intervals, splotchlike, up and down, from top 
 to trunk ; at one moment, lost from one place — the next, 
 furiously darting upon another. Its blaze showed him 
 the track through the hollow to old Mother Blonay's, 
 and, as he beheld it, a sudden desire prompted him 
 once more to look into the dwelling of the old woman. 
 He was strangely fascinated in this direction, particu- 
 larly as he remembered the equivocal nature of the 
 threat which she had screamed in his ear in regard to 
 his sister. " Goggle, Goggle, Goggle !" A shiver 
 ran through his frame as he thought upon it. 
 
 Alighting from his horse, he approached the hovel, 
 hitched the animal to a hanging bough, and, with 
 as light a footstep as possible, quietly approached 
 the entrance. Peeping through an aperture between 
 the loose logs he gazed upon the inmate. There, still 
 in her seat beside the fireplace, she kept up the same 
 croning movement, to and fro, maintaining her balance 
 perfectly, yet fast asleep all the while. Sometimes 
 her rocking would be broken with a start, but sleep 
 had too far possessed her ; and though her dog barked 
 once or twice at the approach of the stranger, the 
 interruption in her seesaw was but for a moment, and 
 an incoherent murmur indistinctly uttered, only pre- 
 ceded her relapse into silence and slumber as before. 
 Beside her lay her twin cats — twin in size though not 
 in colour — a monstrous pair whose sleep emulated that 
 of their mistress. On a bench before her, clearly 
 distinguishable in the firelight, Humphries noted her 
 travelling bundle with a staff" run through it. This 
 indicated her itinerant habits, and his conclusion was, 
 that the old hag, who wandered usually from plantation 
 to plantation, from hovel to hovel, pretending to cure or 
 
THE PARTISAN. 221 
 
 charm away disease, and taking large collections in 
 return from the charitable, the ignorant and superstitious 
 alike — had made her preparations for an early journey 
 in the morning. While he looked, his own supersti- 
 tious fancies grew active ; and, a cold shiver which he 
 could not escape, but of which he was heartily ashamed, 
 came over him, and, with a hurried step, he darted away 
 from the contemplation of a picture he could not regard 
 in any other light than as one horrible and unholy. 
 Humphries was not the slave of a feeble and childish 
 superstition, but the natural influences which aflect the 
 uneducated mind, commonly, had their due force on 
 his. The secret cause is always mysterious, and com- 
 monly produces enervating and vague fears in the 
 bosoms of all that class of people who engage in no 
 thoughts beyond those called for by their everyday 
 sphere and business. So with him — he had doubts, 
 and in proportion with his ignorance were his appre- 
 hensions. Ignorance is of all things the most appre- 
 hensive in nature. He knew not whether she could 
 have or not the power that she professed, and his active 
 imagination gave her all the benefit of his doubt. Still 
 he did not fear. No one who knew his usually bold 
 character, his recklessness of speech and action, would 
 deem him liable to any fear from such influences as 
 were supposed to belong to the withered tenant of that 
 isolated hovel — and yet, when he thought upon the 
 cheerless life which she led and seemed to love — when 
 he asked himself what might be its pleasures or its 
 solace, he could not avoid feeling that in its anti-social 
 evidences lurked the best proof of its evil nature. 
 Wherefore should age, poverty, and feebleness, fly so 
 far, and look so harshly upon, the whole world around 
 it? Why refuse its contiguity? — why deny, why 
 shrink away from the prospect of its comforts and its 
 blessings ? AVhy 1 unless the mood within was hos- 
 tile — unless its practices were unfriendly to the com- 
 mon good, as they were foreign to the common habit, of 
 humanity ? He knew, indeed, that poverty may at all 
 times sufficiently account for isolation — that an acute 
 T3 
 
222 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 sensibility may shrink from that contact with the 
 crowd which may, and does, so frequently betray or 
 wound it : and he also well knew that there is no sym- 
 pathy between good and bad fortune, except as the one 
 is apt to desire that survey of the other which will best 
 enable it to comprehend the superior benefits of its 
 own position. But that old woman had no such sensi- 
 bilities, and her poverty was not greater — not so great, 
 indeed, as that of many whom he knew beside, who 
 yet clung to, and sought to share some of the ties and 
 regards of society, though unblessed by the world's 
 goods, and entirely out of the hope of a redeeming 
 fortune. Did he not also know that she exulted in 
 the thought that she was feared by those around her, 
 and studiously inculcated the belief among the vulgar, 
 that she possessed attributes which were dangerous 
 and unholy ? Her very pride was an abomination to 
 humanity, as her chief source of satisfaction seemed 
 to lie in the exercise of powers unwholesome and 
 annoying to man. No wonder the blood grew cold and 
 curdled in the veins of the blunt countryman as he 
 thought upon these matters. No wonder that he 
 moved away to his horse, with a rapidity he would not 
 his enemy should see, from a spot over which, as his 
 mind dwelt upon the subject, such an infernal atmos- 
 phere seemed to brood and gather. The bark of the 
 dog as the hoofs of his charger beat upon the ground 
 while he hurried alonghispath, startledmore completely 
 the old hag, who half rose from her seat, threw up 
 her head to listen, then, pushing the dismembered 
 brands of her fire together, composed herself once 
 more in her chair to sleep. 
 
 The evening of the day upon the history of which 
 we have been engaged, had been rather remarkable in 
 the annals of the " Royal George." There had been 
 much to disturb the waters, and, we may add, the spirits 
 in that important domain. There had been a partial 
 sundering of ancient ties — a violation of sometime 
 sacred pledges, an awkward collision of various inter- 
 ests. On the ensuing Monday, Serjeant Hastings, of 
 
THE PARTISAN. 223 
 
 whom we have already seen either too much or too 
 little, was to take his departure with the notorious 
 Captain Huck to join Tarleton on the Catawba. The 
 interval of time between the present and that fixed for 
 this, so important, remove, was exceedingly brief; 
 but a day, and that a holyday, intervened — and then 
 farewell to the rum punch, the fair coquette, and 
 the pleasant company of the " Royal George." The 
 subject was a melancholy one to all parties. The 
 Serjeant preferred the easy life, the good company, the 
 cheering liquor of the tavern, and there were other and 
 less honourable objects yet in his mind, unsatisfied, 
 and as far from realization as ever. Bella Humphries 
 had too little regard for him really to become his victim, 
 though he had spared no effort to that end. On the 
 contrary, the girl had latterly grown peevish in some 
 respects, and he could clearly perceive, though the 
 cause remained unknown, that his influence over her 
 was declining. His assumption of authority, his vio- 
 lence, and perhaps, his too great familiarity, had won- 
 derfully lessened her regard ; and, if the truth must be 
 known, John Davis was in reality more potent in her 
 esteem than she had been willing to acknowledge 
 either to that personage or to herself. While Davis 
 kept about the tavern, a cringing and peevish lover, 
 contributing to her conceit while acknowledging her 
 power, she was not unwilling, with all the thoughtless- 
 ness of a weak girl, to trifle with his aff'ections ; but 
 now that he had absented himself, as it seemed for ever, 
 she began to comprehend her own loss and to lament 
 it. Subh a consciousness led her to a more close 
 examination of Hastings' pretensions, and the result of 
 her analysis was quite unfavourable to that worthy. 
 His many defects of disposition and character, his 
 vulgarity, his impudence, all grew remarkably promi- 
 nent in her eyes, and he could now see that, when 
 he would say, in a manner meant to be alluring — 
 " Hark'ee, Bell, my beauty — get us a swig, pretty 
 particular, and not too strong o' the lemon, and not 
 
224 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 too weak o' the Jamaica, and not too scant consider- 
 ing the quantity," — there was no sweet elasticity in 
 the utterance of " Yes, sergeant, certain — coming," 
 coupled with a gracious smile and a quickness of 
 movement that left the time between the order and 
 its instant execution a space not perceptible even to 
 that most impatient person, himself. He could feel 
 the change now, and as the time allowed him was 
 brief, and opportunities few, he hurried himself in 
 devising plans for the better success of a design upon 
 her, long entertained, of a character the most vile and 
 nefarious. 
 
 But his bill remained unpaid ; and this was the worst 
 feature in the sight of our landlord. That evening 
 (Saturday) the worthy publican had ventured to suggest 
 the fact to the disregarding memory of the sergeant, 
 who had, with the utmost promptness, evaded the de- 
 mand. Some words had passed between them — old 
 Humphries had been rather more spirited, and Hastings 
 rather more insolent than usual ; and the latter, in 
 search of consolation, made his way into the inner 
 room where Bella officiated. To crown his discontent, 
 his appi'oach was utterly unnoticed by that capricious 
 damsel. He dashed away in dudgeon from the house 
 at an early hour, certainly less regretted by the maid 
 than by the master of the inn. 
 
 Such had been the transactions of the evening of 
 that night, when, at a late hour, Humphries approached 
 the dwelling of his father. The house lay in perfect 
 shadow as he drew nigh the outer buildings, in the 
 rear of one of which he carefully secured his horse. 
 The moon, obscured during the early part of the eve- 
 ning, and dim throughout the night, had now sunk 
 westering so far, that it failed to touch entirely the 
 close and sheltered court in front of the house. As 
 he drew nigh, moving along in the deeper shadow of 
 the fence to the rear of the dwelling, for which he had 
 a key, he started. Was it a footstep that reached his 
 ear ? He squatted to the ground and listened. He 
 was not deceived. The indistinct outline of a man 
 
THE PARTISAN. 225 
 
 cloSe under the piazza, was apparent. He seemed 
 busied in some labour which he pursued cautiously, 
 and in perfect silence. Humphries could see that he 
 stooped to the ground, and that in the next moment, 
 his arras were extended. A few seconds after and 
 the person of the man seemed to rise in air. The 
 watcher could no longer be mistaken. Already had 
 the nightstalker taken two steps upon the ladder which 
 he had placed against the house, when Humphries 
 bounded forward from liis place of watch. His soul 
 was on fire, for he saw that the object of the stranger 
 was the chamber of his sister, the windows of which 
 looked out upon the piazza, and were all open, as was 
 usual in the summer nights. The look of the old 
 hag, her strange words uttered as a threat, grew strong 
 in his mind, and he now seemed to understand them. 
 Drawing his dirk from his bosom, the only weapon he 
 had ventured to bring with him from the stable, in the 
 fodder of which he had hidden his sabre and pistols, he 
 rushed furiously towards the burglar. But his move- 
 ment had been too precipitate lor success ; and with 
 the first sound of his feet, the marauder had dropped 
 from the ladder, and taken to his heels. The 
 start in his favour being considerable, gave him a vast 
 advantage over his pursuer, for, though swift of foot, 
 active, and spurred on by the fiercest feelings, Hum- 
 phries failed to come up with him. A moment after 
 the fugitive had leaped the fence, the dirk of the former 
 was driven into that part of it over which his body 
 had passed. The villain had escaped. 
 
 Gloomy and disappointed, the brother returned to 
 the spot, and calmly inspected the premises. Pain- 
 fully and deeply apprehensive were his thoughts, as 
 he surveyed the ladder, and the open windows above. 
 But for his timely arrival there would have been little 
 or no difficulty in effecting an entrance. Did the 
 wretch seek to rob 1 That was the hope of Hum- 
 phries. Could it be possible that his sister had fallen ? 
 was she a victim, privy to the design of the felon ? or 
 did he only now, for the first time, seek her dishonour ? 
 
226 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 He knew that she was weak and childish, but he also 
 believed her innocent. Could she have looked for the 
 coming of a paramour ? The unobstructed windows, 
 the unbroken silence, the confident proceeding of the 
 man himself — all would seem to strengthen the 
 damning idea which now possessed his mind ; and 
 when his perpetually recurring thought brought to him 
 the picture of the old hag, her hellish glare upon him, 
 and her mysterious threat — a threat which now seemed 
 no longer mysterious — the dreadful apprehensions 
 almost grew into certainty. There was but one, and 
 that a partial mode, of ascertaining how far the girl 
 was guilty of participation in the design of the stranger ; 
 and, with the thought, Humphries at once ascended the 
 ladder which he threw down after him. From the 
 piazza he made his way to the girl's chamber. 
 
 A light was burning in the fireplace, dimly, and with 
 no power to serve him where it stood. He seized it, 
 almost convulsively, in one hand, while the uplifted dag- 
 ger was bare in the other, and thus he approached the 
 couch where she lay. He held the light above, so 
 that its glare touched not her eyes, and he looked down 
 into her face. She lay sleeping, soundly, sweetly, 
 with a gentle respiration like a sigh swelhng equably 
 her bosom. There was no tremor, no start. Her 
 round, fair face wore a soft, smiling expression, 
 showing that the consciousness within was not one of 
 guilt. One of her arms hung over the pillow, her 
 cheek resting upon it ; the other pressed slightly her 
 bosom, as naturally as if there had been a throbbing and 
 deeply feeling heart under it. The brother looked, 
 and as he looked, he grew satisfied. He could not 
 doubt that sleep ; it was the sleep of innocence. A 
 weight of nameless, of measureless terror, had been 
 taken from his soul in that survey ; and nature claimed 
 relief in a flood of tears. The drops fell on the cheek 
 of the sleeper, and she started. With the movement, 
 he put aside the dagger, not, however, before her eyes 
 had beheld it. 
 
THE PAItTISAN. 227 
 
 " Oh, William ! brother, dear brother ! is it you 1 
 and — the knife ?" 
 
 She had caught his hand in her terror, and amaze 
 and bewilderment overspread her features. 
 
 " Sleep on, Bell, sleep on; you are a good girl, and 
 needn't fear." 
 
 He kissed her as he spoke, and, with the fondness 
 of a sister, and the thoughtlessness of a girl, she began 
 to prattle to him ; but he bade her be quiet, and, taking 
 the light with him, descended to the lower apartment, 
 adjoining the bar-room, where his father usually slept. 
 To his surprise he was not there, but a gleam through 
 the door led the son to the place where the old man 
 usually served his customers. The picture that met 
 his eye was an amusing one. There, at length upon 
 the floor, the landlord lay. A candle placed beside 
 him, with a wick doubled over and blazing into the 
 tallow, lacked the friendly aid of the snuffers. The 
 old man was too deeply engaged in his vocation to 
 notice this. His head, resting upon one hand, was 
 lifted upon his elbow, and before him were sundry large 
 boards, covered with tallies in red chalk and in white, 
 against his sundry customers. The landlord was 
 busily engaged in drawing from these chronicles, the 
 particular items in the account of Sergeant Hastings, 
 which he transcribed upon a sheet of paper which lay 
 before him. A tumbler of Jamaica, of especial body, 
 stood conveniently close, from which he occasionally 
 drew strong refreshment for his memory. He was 
 too earnest in his labour, to notice the entrance of 
 his son at first ; but the other had too little time to 
 spare, to scruple much at disturbing his father at his 
 unusual labour. 
 
 " Ah, bless me. Bill — that you? Wliy, what's the 
 to-do now 1 What brings you so late ?" 
 
 " Business, business, father, and plenty of it. But 
 get up, rouse and rustle about, and get away from these 
 scores, or you won't understand a word I tell you." 
 
 The landlord rose immediately, put his board aside, 
 picked up the sheet containing the amount in gross 
 
228 THE Partisan. 
 
 charged against Sergeant Hastings, which he sighed 
 twice as he surveyed, and, in a few moments, was 
 prepared to listen to what his son could say. He 
 heard the narrative with horror and astonishment. 
 
 " God bless us and preserve us, Bill ! but this is 
 awful hard ; and what are we to do — where shall we 
 run — ^how — " 
 
 " Run nowhere, but listen to what I tell you. You 
 can't help it now, but you may make something out of 
 it. If Proctor must hear the truth, he may as well 
 hear it from you." 
 
 " From me ! — bless me. Bill, my boy — from me ?" 
 
 " Yes, from you. Set off by daypeep to the fort, 
 and see Proctor yourself. Tell him of your loyalty, 
 and how you love the king ; and you can cry a little 
 all the time, if it comes easy to you. I don't want 
 you to strain much about it. Tell him that you have an 
 unworthy gon, that's not of your way of thinking. Say 
 he's been misguided by the rebels, and how they've 
 inveigled him, till he's turned rebel himself ; and how 
 he's now out with Marion's men, in Major Single- 
 ton's squad. When you've done this, you can cry 
 again, and do any thing to throw dust in his eyes* 
 Say it's aU owing to your loyalty that you expose your 
 own flesh and blood, and mind you don't take any 
 money for telling." 
 
 " Bless me, dear boy, but this is awful to think on.'* 
 
 " It must be thought on, though, and the sooner the 
 better. Coming from you, it will help you ; coming 
 from that skunk, Goggle, and you silent, and they pack 
 you off to the Charlestown provost, or maybe draw 
 you over the swinging bough. Tell Proctor our force 
 is thirty ; that we lay at Slick ford last night, and that 
 we push for Black river by daypeep, to join with the 
 Swamp Fox. This, you see, will be a truer story 
 than Goggle can tell, for if he sends Proctor after us 
 to Slick ford, he'll have a journey to take back." 
 
 " Bless me, what's to become of us all, Bill, I don't 
 see. I am all over in a fever now, ever since you 
 tell'd me your story." 
 
THE PARTISAN. 229 
 
 " Shake it off, and be comfortable, as you can be. 
 Thinking about it never cured the shaking ague yet, 
 and never will. You must try." 
 
 " And I will try — I will, boy ; but bless me. Bill, 
 wouldn't it be better for us all to take the swamp — eh ?" 
 
 " No — stay where you are ; there's no need for you 
 to go out, and you can do good where you are. Be- 
 sides, there's Bell, you know " 
 
 " True, true." 
 
 " Lead out trumps, that's the way, and mind how 
 you play 'em ; that's all you've got to do now, and if 
 so be you try, you can do it. Don't burn daylight, 
 but be with Proctor as soon as sunrise lets you. 
 Don't stop to talk about Edisto catfish, or what's for 
 dinner, and whether it's like to rain or shine, but push 
 through the crowd, and don't mind your skirts. All 
 depends on you, now." 
 
 " Bless us, bless us ! what times, what times ! Oh, 
 Bill, my boy, what's coming to us ! Here was Huck, 
 to-day, and says Continental Congress is to make 
 peace with Great Britain, and to give up Carolina and 
 Georgia." 
 
 " Oh that's all a fool notion, for it's no such thing. 
 That's all a trick of the tories, and you needn't mind 
 it. But what of Huck ?" 
 
 " He goes a-Monday to join Tarleton." 
 
 " Good ! — and now I must leave you. I've got a 
 mighty deal to see to afore daylight, and I won't see 
 you for a smart spell, I reckon, as I shall have to hug 
 the swamp close after this. Don't be slow now, 
 father, 'cause every thing hangs on your shoulders, 
 and you must tell your story straight." 
 
 In their dialogue the son had taken care to omit 
 nothing which a shrewd, thinking mind might suggest, 
 as essential to the successful prosecution of the plan 
 advised. This done, he took his way to the dwelling 
 of old Pryor, and tapping with his knife-handle thrice 
 upon one of the small, but ostentatious, pine pillars of 
 the portico, the door was unclosed, and he was at once 
 
 Vol. I.— U 
 
230 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 admitted, as one who had been waited for. There we 
 shall leave him, conferring closely with a select few, 
 busy, like himself, in preparations for a general uprising 
 of the people. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 she is lost ! — 
 
 She is saved ! — Goethe. 
 
 Humphries, poor old man, placed himself at an 
 eastern window, the moment his son had departed, to 
 watch for the first openings of the daylight. What a 
 task had he to perform ! what a disclosure to make ! 
 and how should he evade the doubt, though complying 
 with the suggestion of reason and his son alike, that 
 he should, by the development he was about to make, 
 compromise the safety of the latter. Should he be 
 taken, the evidence of the father would be adequate to 
 his conviction, and that evidence he was now about to 
 offer to the enemy. He was to denounce him as a 
 rebel, an outlaw, whom the leader of a single troop 
 might hang without a trial, the moment he was ar- 
 rested. The old man grew miserable with his reflec- 
 tions, and there was but one source of consolation. 
 Fortunately, the supply of old Jamaica in the " Royal 
 George " was still good ; and a tumbler of the precious 
 beverage, fitly seasoned with warm spices and sugar, 
 was not ineffectually employed to serve the desired 
 purpose. 
 
 And with this only companion, whose presence mo- 
 mently grew less, the worthy landlord watched for 
 the daylight from his window ; and soon the gray mist 
 rose up like a thin veil over the tops of the tall trees, 
 and the pale stars came retreating away from the 
 more powerful array which was at hand. The hum 
 of the night insects was over — the hoarse chant of 
 the frog family was silent, as their unerring senses 
 
THE PARTISAN. 231 
 
 taught them the coming of that glorious and beautiful 
 presence which they did not love. Fold upon fold, 
 like so many variously shaded wreaths, the dim curtain 
 of the night was drawn gradually up into heaven, and 
 once more the vast panorama of forest, river, and green 
 valley came out upon the sight, rising, by little and 
 little, into life, in the slowly illumined distance. 
 
 The moment old Humphries saw the approach of 
 daylight, he finished his tumbler of punch, and, with a 
 sad heart, he set out for Proctor's quarters. Some 
 little delay preceded his introduction to the command- 
 ant of the garrison, who received him graciously, and 
 civilly desired to know his business. This was soon 
 imfolded, and with many pauses, broken exclamations 
 of grief and loyalty, the landlord gave a brief account, 
 as furnished him by his son, of all the events which 
 had occurred to Singleton and his squad since his as- 
 sumption of its command. The affair of the tories and 
 his troop in the swamp — the capture of the baggage 
 and arms — the delay of which, a matter of surprise to 
 Huck, was now accounted for — and the subsequent 
 bivouac upon the Stonoe head, were quickly unfolded to 
 the wondering Briton. He immediately despatched a 
 messenger for Huck, while proceeding to the cross- 
 examination of his informant — a scrutiny which he 
 conducted with respect and a proper consideration. 
 All was coherent in his story, and Proctor was inly 
 troubled. A piece of daring, such as the formation of 
 Singleton's squad, so near the garrison, so immediately 
 in the neighborhood and limits of the most esteemed 
 loyalty, was well calculated to annoy him. The 
 name of Major Singleton too, grated harshly on his 
 ears. He could not but remember the sinister refer- 
 ence of Katharine Walton to her cousin of the same 
 name ; and he at once identified him with his rival in 
 that young lady's regard. Huck came while yet he 
 deliberated ; and to him the narrative which Humphries 
 delivered, who stood by all the while, was also told. 
 The tory was not less astounded than Proctor ; and 
 the two conferred freely on their news before Hum- 
 
232^ THE PARTISAN. 
 
 phries, whose loyalty was properly confirmed in their 
 opinion, by his unscrupulous denunciation of his own 
 son. To Huck, the commandant of the garrison was 
 compelled to apply, and the troop of the former was 
 required to disperse the force of Singleton. The 
 garrison guard was too small, under the doubtful con- 
 dition of loyalty in the neighborhood, to spare a de- 
 tachment ; and it was arranged, therefore, that Huck 
 should depart from his original plan and route, which 
 was to start on the ensuing day for Camden, and im- 
 mediately to make a circuit through the country by 
 the Stonoe, and having done so, go forward by Parker's 
 Ferry, and gain, by a circuitous sweep, the course 
 which had been formerly projected, and which, indeed, 
 the orders received by him from Cornwallis compelled 
 him to pursue. It was hoped that he would over- 
 haul the little force of Singleton, in which event it 
 must have been annihilated. In the mean time. Proc- 
 tor prepared his despatches for Charlestown, calling 
 for a supply of troops — a call not likely to be re- 
 sponded to from that quarter, as the garrison there had 
 been already drawn upon by the interior, to such an 
 extent as to leave barely a sufficient force within the 
 walls of the city for its own maintenance. This Proc- 
 tor knew, but no other hope presented itself, and glad 
 to use the troop of Huck, he contented himself with 
 the consciousness of having done all that could be 
 done by him, under existing circumstances. Civilly 
 dismissing Humphries, he would have rewarded 
 him, but the old man urged his simple and sincere 
 loyalty, and shrunk back at the idea of receiving 
 gold as the reward of his son's betrayal. He did his 
 part ably, and leaving the two conferring upon the par- 
 ticulars of the tory's route, hurried away to the tavern 
 in no enviable state of feeling. 
 
 His son, whom we have seen entering the dwelling 
 of old Pryor, was glad to meet with several sturdy whigs 
 in close conference. They had been stimulated by 
 the whispers of an approaching army of continentals, 
 and the vague intelligence had been exaggerated in 
 
THE PARTISAN. 233 
 
 due proportion to the thick obscurity which at that 
 time hung about the subject. The host, himself — 
 who was a sturdy patriot, and more than usually bold, 
 as, of late days, he was more than usually unfortunate — 
 presided upon this occasion. The party was small, 
 consisting of some half dozen persons, all impatient 
 of the hourly wrongs, which, in their reckless indif- 
 ference to the feelings of the conquered, the invaders 
 continually committed. The reduction of the British 
 forces in the lower county, in the large draughts made 
 upon it for the upper posts, had emboldened disaffec- 
 tion ; and the people, like snakes long huddled up in 
 holes during the severe weather, now came out with 
 the tirst glimpses of the sunshine. The arrival of 
 Humphries with the intelligence which he brought, 
 gave them new spirits. The successes of Marion at 
 Britten's neck, and Singleton in the swamp, of which 
 they had not heard before, though small, were yet held 
 an earnest of what might be anticipated, and what was 
 hoped for. The additional news that the approaching 
 continentals were to be commanded by Gates, whose 
 renown was in the ascendant — so far in the ascendant, 
 indeed, that the star of Washington almost sank before 
 it — went far to give hope a positive body and a form. 
 Doubt succeeded to bold prediction, and the conspirators 
 were now prepared — those reluctant before — to begin 
 properly the organization of their section, as had been 
 the advice of Marion. Still they were not altogether 
 ready for the field. Property was to be secured, fami- 
 lies earned beyond reach of that retribution which the 
 enemy usuEtlly inflicted upon the feeble in return for the 
 audacity and defiance of the strong ; arms were to be 
 procured, and, until the time of Sir Henry Clinton's in- 
 dulgence — the twenty days — had expired, they deter- 
 mined to forbear all open demonstration. To these, 
 Humphries had already designated their leader, in the 
 person of Col. Walton, whom they all knew and es- 
 teemed. His coming out they were satisfied would 
 alone bring an active and goodly troop into the field. 
 Popular as he was, both in St. Paul's and St. George's, 
 U2 
 
234 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 it was confidently believed that he would bring both 
 the parishes out handsomely, and his skill as a leader 
 had been already tried and was highly estimated. The 
 spirits of the little knot of conspirators grew with every 
 enumeration of their prospects and resources, and 
 they looked up, as daylight approached, full of hope 
 and mutual assurances. Two of the party agreed to 
 come out to Humphries, in the contiguous wood, by 
 the first ringing of the bell for sabbath service — for the 
 day was Sunday — and there, at a given spot, the lieu- 
 tenant was to await them. 
 
 Before the daylight he took his departure, and lead- 
 ing his horse into the close swamp thicket on the river, 
 where his first conference with Singleton had taken 
 place, he fastened him carefully, took his seat at the 
 foot of a tree which overhung the river, and there 
 mused, half dozing, for the brief hour that came 
 between the time and the dawning. But soon the 
 light came winding brightly and more brightly around 
 him ; the mists curled up from the river, and the breeze 
 rising up from the ocean, with the dawn, refreshed 
 and animated him. He sat watching the mysterious 
 separation of those twin agents of life, night and day, 
 as the one rolled away in fog along the river, and the 
 other burst forth, in gleams from the sky and bloom 
 upon the earth. But these sights were not such as 
 greatly to amuse our lieutenant, and the time passed 
 heavily enough, until about eight o'clock, when, from 
 the river's edge, he distinguished, crossing the bridge 
 at Dorchester, the time-worn, bent figure, of the old 
 Dame Blonay. She was on her way to the garrison for 
 the revelation of that intelligence, which his father 
 had by this time already unfolded. The lieutenant now 
 understood a part of the design, and readily conceived 
 that such was the purport of her visit to the village. 
 Yet why had not her son undertaken the task himself ''. 
 Why depute to an infirm old woman the performance 
 of an object so important ? The question puzzled 
 him ; and it was only a dim conjecture of the truth, 
 which led him to believe that Goggle had made his way 
 
THE PARTISAN. 235 
 
 back to camp with the view to some farther treachery. 
 As the hag grew more distinct to his eye, in the in- 
 creasing light, her sharp features — the subtle cast of 
 her eye — the infirm crazy motion — bent shoulders, 
 and witch-like staff which she carried, brought many 
 unpleasant images to the mind of the observer; and 
 the singular, and, to him, the superstitious fear which 
 he had felt while gazing upon her, through the crevices 
 of her hut the night before, came back to him with in- 
 creased influence. He thought of the thousand strange 
 stories of the neighborhood, about the witchcraft prac- 
 tised by her and others. Indian doctors were then, all 
 over the country, renowned for their cures, all of 
 which were effected by trick and mummery, mixed up 
 with a due proportion of forest medicines — wild roots 
 and plants, the properties of which, known through 
 long ages to the aborigines, were foreign to the knowl- 
 edge, and therefore marvellous in the estimation of the 
 whites. To their arts the Gullah and the Ebo negroes, 
 of which the colony had its thousands furnished by the 
 then unscrupulous morality of its neighbours, added 
 their spells and magic, in no stinted quantities, and of 
 the foulest and filthiest attributes. The conjuration 
 of these two classes became united in the practice of 
 the cunning white, of an order little alcove them, and 
 Mother Blonay formed the representative of a sect in 
 the lower country of South Carolina, by no means 
 small in number or trifling in influence, and which, to 
 this day, not utterly extinguished, remains here and 
 there in the more ignorant sections, still having power 
 over the subject minds of the weak and superstitious. 
 
 As we have said, Humphries was not one, if the 
 question were to be asked him, to say that he believed 
 in the powers thus claimed for the old woman before 
 us. But the bias of years, of early education and 
 associates, was insurmountable ; and he felt the influ- 
 ence which his deliberate reflection would be, never- 
 theless, at all times disposed to deny. He felt it now 
 as she came towards him, and when, passing along, he 
 saw her move towards the dwelling of his father, he 
 
236 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 remembered her mysterious speech associated with 
 the name of his sister, and his blood grew cold in his 
 veins, though, an instant after, it again boiled with a 
 fury naturally enough arising from the equivocal regard 
 in which that speech had seemed to place her. As 
 she passed along the copse to the edge of which his 
 feet had almost followed her, he placed himself in a 
 position to observe the direction which she would 
 pursue in entering the village, and was satisfied of her 
 object when he saw her bending her way to the fortress. 
 We need scarce add that she told her story to Proctor, 
 and was listened to coldly. She had brought him 
 no intelligence, and, indeed, he knew rather more than 
 herself. But one point of difference existed between 
 the account given by old Humphries and the woman. 
 The one stated that Singleton's band had withdrawn 
 from the Stonoe, and had pushed for Black river — the 
 other affirmed it to be there still. The difference was 
 at once made known to Huck, a portion of whose 
 troopers were even then getting into saddle. The resi- 
 due were soon to follow, and the whole were expected 
 to rendezvous that night at Parker's ferry. Mother 
 Blonay was mortified that she brought no news to the 
 gan-ison ; but, as her story confirmed that of Hum- 
 phries, Proctor gave her a reward, small, however, in 
 comparison with what had been expected. She left the 
 garrison in bad humour, and was soon joined on her 
 way by Sergeant Hastings, whose orders required him 
 to march with the detachment which was to follow 
 Huck that afternoon. His chagrin, on this account, 
 was not less than hers. A bitter oath accompanied the 
 information which he gave her of the orders he had 
 just received. The two then spoke of another matter. 
 
 " Far off as ever, mother, and without your help 
 there's nothing to be done now. Last night I was in 
 a fair way enough, but up comes that chap her brother 
 — it could be nobody else — and I had to cut for it. I 
 •went over the fence then, a thought quicker than I 
 should be able to do it now." 
 
 " It was not Bill Humphries you saw, for he M'as at 
 
THE PAr.TISAN. 237 
 
 my cabin long time after hours last night ; and then he'd 
 not venture in this quarter now. No — no. 'Twas the 
 old man, I reckon." 
 
 " Maybe, though he seemed to run too fast for the 
 old fellow. But no matter who 'twas. The thing 
 failed, and you must chalk out another track." 
 
 " I will ; don't fear, for I've said it ; and come fire, 
 come storm, it must be done. Goggle — Goggle — 
 Goggle ! He must pay for that, and he shall ; she 
 shall — they shall all pay for that, and old scores besides. 
 It's a long-standing account, sergeant, and you can 
 help me to make it up and pay it off; and that's the 
 reason I help you to this. I shall go about it now, 
 and — " After a pause, in which she seemed to medi- 
 tate a while — " Yes ; m.eet me in the swamp thicket 
 above the bridge, just alter you pass the Oak Grove." 
 
 " When r' 
 
 " This morning — soon as the bells strike up for 
 church, and before the people begin to come in freely. 
 Don't be backward, now, but come certain, and don't 
 wait for the last chimes." 
 
 The worthy pair separated, and the glimpses of a 
 previous connection which their dialogue gives us, 
 serves a little to explain some portions of our own 
 narrative. 
 
 While this matter had been in progress, two sturdy 
 troopers joined Humphries in the swamp. Their 
 horses were carefully hidden, and they determined to 
 await the time when the roads should be free from the 
 crowd on their way to church, before they ventured 
 abroad. They amused themselves as well as they 
 might, keeping close in cover themselves, by watching 
 the people as they crossed the bridges, hurried along 
 the highway leading to the village, or lounged on the 
 open ground in front of the church ; for all of these 
 points might easily be commanded from different places 
 along the thicket. There came the farmer on his 
 tacky, in his coarse striped breeches, blue homespun 
 coatee, and broad-brimmed hat ; there, the whirling car- 
 riage, borne along by four showy bays, of the wealthy 
 
238 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 planter ; there, the trudging country-girl in her huge 
 sunbonnet and short-waisted cotton frock ; and there, 
 in little groups of two or three, the negroes, male and 
 female, with their own small stock of eggs, chickens, 
 blackberries, and sassafras, ploughing their way through 
 the heavy sands to occupy their places in the village 
 market. 
 
 While Humphries looked, he saw, to his great vexa- 
 tion, the figure of Dame Blonay approaching, accompa- 
 nied by his sister. All his suspicions were reawak- 
 ened by the sight. The girl was dressed as for church. 
 Her dress was simple, suited to her condition, and well 
 adapted to her shape, which was a good one. Her 
 bonnet was rather fine and flaunting, and there was 
 something of gaudiness in the pink and yellow dis- 
 tributed over her person in the guise of knots and 
 ribands. But still the eye was not offended, for the 
 habit did not show unfavourably along with the pretty 
 face, and light, laughing, good-natured eye that anima- 
 ted it. What a contrast to the old hag beside her. 
 The one, capricious enough, was yet artless and simple 
 — the other was even then devising plans for her ruin. 
 
 " Come, my daughter, come farther — I would not 
 others should hear what I say to you ; and I know 
 it will please you to know. The wood is cool and 
 shajjy, and we can talk there at our ease." 
 
 " But, mother, wasn't it a strange dream now— a very 
 strange dream, to think that I should be a great lady, 
 and ride in my coach like the ladies at ' Middleton 
 Place,' and ' The Oaks,' and ' Singleton's,' and all the 
 rich people about here ? — and it all seemed so true, 
 mother — so very true, I didn't know where I was when 
 I woke up this morning." 
 
 There was a devilish leer in the old hag's eye, as 
 she looked into that of the vain-hearted but innocent 
 girl beside her, and answered her in a speech well 
 calculated to increase the idle folly already so active 
 in her mind. Humphries heard nothing of the dia- 
 logue — he was quite too far off; but he felt so deeply 
 anxious on the subject of the old woman's connection 
 
THE PARTISAN. 239 
 
 with his sister, that he had actually given some direc- 
 tions to the two troopers along with him, and was 
 about to emerge from his cover, and separate them at 
 all hazards, when the bells from the village steeple 
 struck up, and warned him of the extreme risk which 
 he must run from such an exposure of his person. 
 The same signal had the effect of bringing the two more 
 closely to the copse, to which the old woman, now, by 
 various suggestions, contrived to persuade her com- 
 panion. While they approached the thicket, Humphries 
 changed his course and position, so as to find a con- 
 tiguous spot, for the concealment of his person, the 
 moment they should stop, which would enable him to 
 gather up their dialogue ; and it was not long before 
 they paused, at the old woman's bidding, in a well- 
 shaded place, completely unseen from the road, and 
 quite out of hearing from the village. Here the con- 
 versation between them was resumed — Mother Blonay 
 leading off in reply to something said by Bella, the 
 purport of which may be guessed from the response 
 made to it. 
 
 " A bad dream, do you say, my daughter ? I say it 
 is a good dream, and you're a lucky girl, if you don't 
 stand in the way of your own fine fortune. There's 
 good coming to you : that dream's always a sign of 
 good ; it never fails. So mind you don't spoil all by 
 some foolish notion." * 
 
 " Why, how sliall I do, mother 1 what shall I say ? 
 Dear me ! I wouldn't do any thing to spoil it for the 
 world !" 
 
 And the two seated themselves upon the green turf 
 in the thicket, the right hand of the girl upon the knee 
 of the hag, while her eyes looked up apprehensively 
 and inquiringly into the face of the latter. She gave 
 her some counsel, accordingly, in answer to the ques- 
 tion, of a vague, indefinite character, very mysteriously 
 delivered, and the only part of which, understood by 
 Bella, was a general recommendation to her, quietly 
 to receive, and not to resist her good fortune. 
 
 " But, mother, I thought you said you would show 
 
240 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 him to me — him, my true-and-true husband, that is to 
 be. Now I wonder who it can be. It can't be John 
 Davis, for he's gone away from the village, and they 
 say he's out in the swamp, mother — can you tell ?" 
 
 " No, Bella ; and it's no use : he's nothing at all 
 to you." 
 
 " You think so, mother ? Well, I'm sorry ; for I do 
 believe John had a true-and-true love for me in his 
 heart, and he often said so. I wonder where he is." 
 
 " John Davis, indeed, my child ! how can you speak 
 of such a fellow 1 Why, what has he to show for 
 you 1 A poor shoat that hasn't house, nor home, nor 
 any thing to make a wife comfortable, or even feed 
 her when he gets her. No, no, girl, the husband 
 that's for you is a different sort of person — a very 
 different sort of person, indeed." 
 
 " Oh, do, mother ! can't you tell me something about 
 him, now ? — only a little ; I do so want to know. Is 
 he tall, now, or short ? I hope he's tall — eh ? — middle 
 size, and wears — oh, speak, mother ! and don't shake 
 your head so — tell me at once !" And the girl pressed 
 forward upon the old woman, and her eye earnestly 
 watched the features of her countenance, heedless of 
 the ogre grin which rested upon her lips, and the gen- 
 erally fiendish expression of her skinny face. The 
 old woman did not immediately answer, for her 
 thoughts seemed to wander, and her eye looked about 
 her, as if in search of some expected object. 
 
 " What do you look for, mother 1 — you don't mind 
 what I say, do you V 
 
 " I was looking and thinking, my daughter, how to 
 answer you best. How would you like, now, instead 
 of hearing about your husband that is to be, to see him ?" 
 
 " What ! can you make him come, mother, like a 
 picture, with a big frame round him 1 and shall I see 
 him close — see him close 1 But I mustn't touch him, 
 I suppose ; for then he'd vanish, they say." 
 
 " Yes, — how would you like to see him, now, Bella 1" 
 
 " Oh, dear me, I should be frightened ! You'd better 
 
THE PARTISAN. 241 
 
 tell me who he is, and don't bring him : though, indeed, 
 mother, I can't think there would be danger." 
 
 " None — none at all," said the old woman in reply, 
 who seemed disposed to prolong the dialogue. 
 
 " Well, if he only looked like John Davis, now !" 
 
 " John Da\'is, indeed, Bella ! — what do you say, 
 now, of the sergeant, Sergeant Hastings ? suppose it 
 happened to be him, now V 
 
 '" Don't talk to me of Sergeant Hastings, mother ; 
 for I was a fool to mind him. He don't care that for 
 me, I know : and he talks cross to me ; and if I don't 
 run myself out of breath to serve him, he says ugly 
 things. Besides, he's been talking strange to me, and 
 I don't like it. More than once I've been going to 
 tell brother William something that he once said to 
 me : and I know, if I had, there would have been a 
 brush between them ; for William won't stand any 
 thing that's impudent. Don't talk of him to me." 
 
 " But I must, my daughter, for it cannot be helped. 
 If I see that he's born to be your husband, and you his 
 wife, it must be so, and I must say it." 
 
 " No, no — it's not so, mother, 1 know. It shan't 
 be so," said the girl, firmly enough. " I won't believe 
 it, neither, and you're only plaguing me." 
 
 " It's a truth, Bella, and neither you nor I can help 
 it, or keep it off. I tell you, child that you were born 
 for Sergeant Hastings." 
 
 " But I won't be born for him, neither. I can't, and 
 I won't, for you don't know what he said to me, and 
 it's not good for me to tell it again, for it was naughty ; 
 and I'm sorry I ever talked cross to poor John Davis, 
 and I did so all because of him." 
 
 The change in her regards from Hastings to her 
 old lover, was a source of no small astonishment to 
 the old hag, who knew not how to account for it. It 
 gave less satisfaction to her than to Humphries, who, 
 in the neighbouring bush, heard every syllable which 
 had been uttered. The secret of this change is easily 
 given. As simple as a child, the mere deference to 
 her claims of beauty, had left her easily susceptible of 
 
 Vol I.— X 
 
242 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 imposition ; and without any feeling actually enlisted 
 in favour of Hastings, she had been on the verge 
 of that precipice — the gulf which passion or folly so 
 often prepares for its unheeding votaries. His profes- 
 sions and flatteries had gradually filled her mind, and 
 when his continued attentions had driven all those 
 away, from whom she had, or might also have received 
 them, it followed that she became a dependant entirely 
 upon him, who, in creating this state of subservience, 
 had placed her, to a certain degree at least, at his 
 mercy. She felt this dependence now, and it some- 
 what mortified her ; her vanity grew hurt, when the 
 tone of deference formerly used by her lover, had been 
 changed to one of command and authority ; and she 
 sometimes sighed when she thought of the unremitting 
 attentions of her old lover from Goose Creek, the in- 
 defatigable Davis. The gaudy dress, and imposing 
 pretensions, had grown common in her eye, while, at 
 the same time, the inferiority of the new lover to the 
 old, in delicacy of feeling, and genuine regard, had 
 become sufficiently obvious. She had, of late, insti- 
 tuted the comparison between them more than once, 
 and the consequence was inevitable. There was no 
 little decision in her manner, therefore, as she refused 
 to submit to the fate which Mother Blonay desired to 
 impose upon her. 
 
 " But, Bella, my daughter — " 
 
 " No, no, mother — don't tell me of Sergeant Hastings 
 any more — I wont hear of him any longer." 
 
 " And why not, Bella, my dear," exclaimed the re- 
 doubtable sergeant himself, coming from behind the 
 trees and speaking to her with a mixed expression of 
 pride and dissatisfaction in his countenance — " why 
 not, I pray, my dear ?" 
 
 The poor girl was dumb at this intrusion. She 
 scarcely dared to look up, as, with the utmost compo- 
 sure, Hastings took a seat beside her. The old hag 
 who had arranged the scheme, at the same moment 
 rose to depart. Quick as thought, Bella seized her 
 hand and would have risen also, but with a gentle 
 
THE PARTISAN. 248 
 
 force the sergeant prevented her, and retained his hold 
 upon her wrist while compelling her to resume the 
 seat beside him. 
 
 "1 must go, sergeant — father is waiting for me I'm 
 sure — and the bells are 'most done ringing. Don't 
 leave me, mother." 
 
 But the old woman was gone, and the girl sat trem- 
 bling beside the strong man who held her, speaking, 
 when she did, in a tremor, and begging to depart. But 
 why dwell on what ensued. The brutal suitor had but 
 one object, and did not long delay to exhibit its atro- 
 cious features. Entreaties were succeeded by rude- 
 nesses ; and the terrified girl, shrieking and screaming to 
 the old hag who had decoyed and left her, was dragged 
 recklessly back by the strong arms of her companion. 
 
 " Cry away — Goggle now — Goggle now — Goggle 
 now — scream on, you poor fool — scream, but there's 
 no help for you." And as the old beldam thus an- 
 swered to the prayers of the girl, she was stricken 
 aside and hurled like a stone into the bush, even 
 while the fiendish soliloqny was upon her lips, by the 
 raging brother, who now darted forward. In an- 
 other instant, and he had dashed the ravisher to the 
 earth — torn his sister, now almost exhausted, from his 
 grasp — and with his heel upon the breast of Hastings, 
 and his knife bared in his hand, that moment would 
 have been the last of life to the rufiian, but for the 
 intervention of the two troopers, who, hearing the 
 shriek, had also rushed forward from the recesses in 
 the wood where the providence of Humphries had 
 placed them. They prevented the blow, but with 
 their aid the sergeaiu was gagged, bound, and dragged 
 down into the copse where the horses awaited them. 
 
 " Oh, brother — dear brother William !" cried the 
 terrified girl — " believe me, brother William, but it's 
 not my fault — I didn't mean to do wrong ! I am inno- 
 cent — that I am !" 
 
 She hung upon him as if she feared his suspicions. 
 He pressed her to his arms while weeping like a very 
 child over her. 
 
244 THE PARTISAN. 
 
 " I know it — I know it, Bella ! and God knows how 
 glad I am to know it ! Had I not heard all between 
 yon, I'd ha' put this knife into you, just the same as if 
 you were not my own flesh and blood. But go now — 
 run to church, and pray to have some sense as well as 
 innocence ; for innocence without sense is like a 
 creeping baby that has not yet got the use of its arms 
 and legs. Go now — run all the way — and mind that 
 you say nothing to the old man about it." 
 
 Throwing her arms about his neck and kissing him, 
 she hurried upon her way with the speed of a bird just 
 escaping, and narrowly, from the net of the fowler. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 .^ 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 PS2818 
 •P2 
 
 1835 
 
 v.l